


The Raptor's Grip

by ccauchemar



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse Allegory, Blood is thicker than water, Buckle up we're going to Australia, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Ensemble Cast, F/F, Found Family, Gen, Generational Divide, Good vs Bad Parenting, Hidden allies, Illustrated chapter splashes, Long Distance Relationship, Multiplicity/Plurality, Plotfic, Resistance of abuse, Subterfuge, Talon Lena "Tracer" Oxton, Trans Emily (Overwatch), allegory of the cave
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-05-27 17:03:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15029168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ccauchemar/pseuds/ccauchemar
Summary: Talon is in turmoil. A group of insurgents struggle to fight the oppressive organisation from the inside, where loyalty is conditional and blackmail runs rampant. Overwatch manages to catch Widowmaker on a mission gone sour, and it seems they can finally heal her for good - but delusions of glory can't hide old wounds forever, and the sniper's return starts to tear the Watchpoint in half.When Talon returns for their property and destroys the illusion of safety at the Watchpoint, the young generation of heroes must pick up the mantle and act before it's too late. Talon strikes hard where its prey is weakest, and the raptor's grip is not so easily broken...





	1. Prologue

The primary Talon base was hidden deep underground. Its shadowy, twisted halls were panelled in matte coal grey and laced with deep scratches. Vents hummed as they recycled stale, cold air, and the lucky got a whiff of instant coffee under the dust and antiseptic. Ominous noises sounded deep within the walls, echoes and clicks of the machine as it breathed.

Ten conference rooms lay scattered throughout the base; cryptlike, soundproof, bulletproof, airtight, and free of all surveillance, emblazoned with the Talon logo across their broad double doors. Ten pointy chairs surrounded a long, polished black conference table on a blood red carpet. Talon’s machinations were put into motion neither lightly nor without style.

In one of these rooms, two Talon agents met to discuss some extremely sensitive information.

The dim light played off Reaper’s bone coloured mask as he leafed through a dossier that contained a wealth of medical reports, correspondence, and evidence. His posture was impassive from years of experience negotiating. 

The mercenary opposite him clasped his hands on the table, repeatedly tapping the heel of his heavy boot on the carpet. He wore a deep green combat suit with bulky silver plating; thin stripes ran between the plates, in the cracks, glowing lime green in the dark. The bulging eyepieces of his helmet - shaped like a snake’s head - shined yellow, from within.

Reaper finished reading, snapped the dossier shut, and slapped it on the table. Printed on the front in bold:

**BLACKROOK**

"What the  _ hell  _ is this?” Reaper snapped. 

The mercenary’s Australian accent hissed through a vocal modulator. “Some truths. An offering of sorts.”

Reaper didn’t buy the calm. "You're telling me one of Talon's most loyal agents has been in contact with O'Deorain for nearly  _ ten years, _ Viper.”

Viper remained cool as a cucumber. “I am.”

“Prove it.”

Viper hesitated.  _ That wasn't enough? _

Reaper waited. He had all the time in the world.

Viper moved to take off a glove, reconsidered, and clicked a button on the underside of his helmet.

The snake’s head hinged upwards to reveal its owners gaunt face. Viper’s skin was greyed and sickly, the dark circles under his eyes reflecting long-endured chronic pain. Green veins sank into his eye sockets, glowed in his crow’s feet, and trickled from the corners of his mouth. His hazel eyes were streaked with bright lime.

Reaper became tense as he recognised Moira’s work gone sour. Viper’s anxiety about the dossier suddenly made sense.  _ “You’re _ Dominic Sansoni.”

Viper pointed at the lurid green glow of his nanobiotics. The pain in his voice was more obvious without the helmet. “As you can see, this is a work in progress, but not one I can put off attending to.”

“As I know well,” Reaper said in a low voice. “I thought you used Vishkar tech.”

“It is - misappropriated,” Viper explained. “It's not the whole truth. You know Talon hides how much information it really has. I came to you because you understand the pain of living with Moira’s  _ enhancements  _ better than anyone.”

“I do,” Reaper said, mulling it over. “I take it you’re interested in reporting to me?”

“Yes sir.”

“You want safety.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes sir.”

"Why Blackrook?"

"She's ambitious and good at covering her tracks. She'll climb higher and higher to ensure her own safety. She always has.”

Reaper remained impassive. "Your habit of  _ lying _ has bit me in the ass more than once," he warned. "If this is false information, you're next in line as live target practice."

Viper’s brow creased. “I wouldn’t lie about something this serious.”

Reaper crossed his arms. "That’s what you told Akande last time. How am I supposed to believe you?"

“Baptiste sends his regards.”

Reaper was taken by surprise. But, to Viper’s confusion, he chuckled. "Sombra told you to say that, huh?”

“How did you know?” Viper asked incredulously. He wasn’t expecting his trump card to have a rebuttal.

“It’s her way of okaying people to me.” Reaper tapped the dossier with a titanium alloy claw. “I'm willing to consider this because you mentioned him. If Sombra didn’t think your information was legitimate... my patience would be  _ much  _ thinner.”

Viper could have smacked himself for not picking up the cue, but that was how it worked around Talon. Someone always had different cards to you… and Sombra held the most. Not all of them, nobody could, but she had enough. He was safe. He finally let himself relax and nod in agreement. “Yes sir. Thank you.”

Reaper hid the dossier in the inside of his cloak. Nobody would stick their hand in a cloud of necrotic nanites, not even for a prize like that. “We’re done here. And you can stop calling me sir.”

Viper gave a curt nod, and stood to leave. “Thank you.”

As Reaper flipped through the dossier a second time, curiosity got the better of him. "Viper," he called, as the other man reached the door.

Viper turned. "Yes?"

"Why a snake?"

The eyes of Viper’s helmet lit up yellow as he clicked it into place. “I had enough of people calling me a snake,” he hissed. "Now, it's a warning."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been planning this fic since January, and if I don't at least post the prologue now, I'll lose my mind. It's a huge story, so updates will be slow - but it's been planned start to finish and only needs to be put on paper. I look forwards to going on this journey and ask only for your patience! <3
> 
> EDIT 22/5/19: I've rewritten the prologue to reflect stuff that wasn't canon when I posted it. Enjoy!


	2. Predictable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Overwatch receives a tip off that Talon is recruiting in northwest Sydney.

“Do you ever,” Tracer panted, sweat and dirt plastered to her face and goggles, “get that feeling of déjà vu?”

“Do I ever,” her arch nemesis said, dry and disinterested, pinning the smaller agent by the throat over the edge of an office block. Tracer’s comm was lost two rooftops away, the result of a particularly fast jab to the ear, Genji Shimada yelling fruitlessly for his partner agent.

The vivid orange light of a late summer sunset washed over them both, and fierce storm clouds rumbled in the distance, closing in over hilly bushland. They threatened the Overwatch jump jet that had dropped them in, that was supposed to rendezvous with them terribly soon.

Widowmaker moved her gauntlet closer to the smaller woman’s face, threatening to launch a venom mine. Carefully, to hide the pain in her ribs, from a misstep in their skirmish. “Why are you here?”

“Aww, luv, isn’t that obvious? Missions happen, did you miss the memo?” Tracer said, shrugging as best she could, counting seconds til she could recall.

“In Australia,” Widowmaker said, raising her eyebrows.

“Uh-huh,” Tracer said, tensing her body for the jump.

“At the same time as  _ me,” _  Widowmaker said, lowering one for emphasis, “When  _ I  _ am on business.”

“Business,” Tracer began, and then she recalled, disappearing in a vortex of light and reappearing behind the sniper, “In a-”

Her quip was cut off by a solid kick to the solar plexus as Widowmaker anticipated the manoeuvre, knocking her back onto the ground, and the sniper pinned her again by the arms.

Widowmaker smiled wryly as Tracer coughed and gasped for air. “You’re  _ so  _ predictable, little bee,” she said.

“Fuh,” Tracer wheezed, “Fuck you.”

“No thank you, I’m on business,” Widowmaker said. “Why are you here?”

Tracer gave her most ferocious snarl when the verbal pressing was joined by physical pressing, but the effect was dampened by her exhaustion. There was no way she could blink out of the spider’s grip when she was this tired. “Why is that any of  _ your  _ business?”

“Because this is a business park, chérie,” Widowmaker said.

“You stole my pun!” Tracer objected, furiously shaking her left arm to try and get her pistol out of its damaged holster. “You know you’re an absolute menace, right?”

“Like I said. You are predictable. And very good at stalling. Why are you here?”

“To intercept your lot, dickhead.”

“But why?”

_ Cause we heard Talon was doing a recruitment here,  _ Tracer thought to herself.  _ Cause Talon activity has been all over the charts, more people have been dying, and now you’re chasing Australians. _

“Cause I enjoy getting punched in the face an’ bein’ shot at by a periwinkle idiot, what can I say?” she said, instead, smiling like her perfect poster child persona.

Widowmaker narrowed her eyes and sighed in irritation, wasting no time in rolling them both over and launching Tracer across the rooftop with her powerful legs.

_ Unbelievable,  _ the sniper thought, as Tracer rolled out of the throw and pushed herself to her knees. “Don’t follow me,” she called, retrieving her rifle and dropping over the side of the building.

“Ugh,” Tracer said, dropping all pretence of an act, panting heavily. “Wish I could, love.”

Fat, heavy raindrops began to fall, painting polka dots onto the hot concrete. The smell of petrichor wafted on the streets below. She could hear cars turning onto the motorway as they tried to head off rush hour and the storm that was now upon them, rolling in on cool wind.

“Tracer!”

Tracer turned around to see Genji clamber onto the roof. “Hiya,” she said, forlornly.

“Did she get away?” Genji asked. The last of the fading sunset, peeking out between the distant Blue Mountains and the cloud cover, reflected off his silver mask.

“What do you think,” Tracer grumbled, pushing herself to her feet with a slight wobble in her knees. Their mission wasn’t over yet.

Genji held out his hand. “I believe this is yours.”

“Oh, brilliant,” she sighed, putting her comm back in position. Their pilot’s voice, intense to mask the worry, immediately came down the line.

_ “Tracer! What are you doing?”  _ called Fareeha Amari, on temporary hire from Helix Security.

“Luv, I don’t even know at this point, I wasn’t expecting Widowmaker to show her blue face over here.”

_ “Well, I don’t want YOU turning blue in the face. Get to the rendezvous, we have to-” _

The whine of a charging weapon sounded behind them.

Genji shouted an alarm. The two Overwatch agents dived for cover as a bright green charge exploded where they’d been standing.

One functioning pistol up, Tracer wiped her wet hair out of her face and peeked around the side of an air conditioning unit.

The stranger crouched on the roof, having climbed up the fire escape. He had an armoured green combat suit, and what appeared to be a pulse shotgun –  _ no _ , Tracer thought,  _ a crossbow, _ hinged arms out, threads of plasma energy condensed into a bowstring – and a deep green helmet, the visage of a snake with fangs framing the jaw. Its eye pieces were lit with an intimidating yellow glow.

“Oh, fancy seeing  _ you  _ here,” Viper said, gruff and electronic. “Mind if I break up the party?”

Only someone from Talon would have that much budget for drama.  _ And that accent... Bet he’s the new guy,  _ Tracer thought. “Why do  _ you  _ care?” she called, giving Genji a second’s worth of distraction.

Genji hurled three shuriken. Viper effortlessly parried them with the armour on his arm and rolled out of the way of the ninja’s follow-up lunge as if he knew it was coming.

Tracer jumped into position and unleashed a flurry of pulse bullets at the enemy. They dug deep into the fabric beneath Viper’s armour, and he staggered. Tracer wasted no time in grabbing him, blinking forwards, and shoving him off the roof, into the alley below.

The distant sound of a grapple firing registered in Tracer’s ears, and she turned, not quite fast enough, to a thunderclap, and a  _ whizz,  _ and a white hot, stinging pain in her cheek.

It was no lightning strike. Widowmaker fluidly landed and leapt off the air conditioning unit. She twisted in midair, launched a mine behind her, and fired her grapple a second time, sailing over the edge of the building after Viper.

Genji responded before Tracer, as sharp as his blades, hurling more shuriken after the sniper. They sliced cleanly through the braided steel, and in a second of complete, unexpected surprise, Widowmaker completed her graceful and practiced arc by smacking face first into a concrete wall.

The odd sight derailed the blooming fire of anger in Tracer’s chest and propelled her into action. “I’ve got her!” she yelled. She blinked forwards once, twice, thrice, and caught the assassin mid-fall. With secure arms around her enemy, Tracer rewound through time to the safety of the rooftop.

The rain was pelting down hard now, and Genji laughed triumphantly, but with an edge of hysteria. Tracer looked over the side of the building, and her heart skipped a beat – the sniper’s rifle was twelve stories below on the ground. Widowmaker was very cold, and very unconscious. She looked pretty dead, and the effect was creepy. An LED on the sniper’s earpiece was flashing an urgent red, though, and Tracer took it out to listen.

_ “-ergency beacon activated, prepare for evac in T-minus thirty seconds, backup incoming. Viper and Widowmaker, do you copy,  _ ” said a garbled Talon agent on the other end.

_ Viper, huh?  _ Tracer tossed the earpiece over the edge as Genji clambered up and onto the roof. “Genji, love, she hit her emergency beacon! Talon’s gonna try to pick her up. We’re gonna be outnumbered.”

The cyborg blinked, behind his mask, and peered out into the rain. Precious seconds passed as he thought, serious once again. “Then we can’t stay here. Can you carry her?” he asked.

Tracer hoisted the much taller woman over her shoulders. “Got a heavy backpack already, this isn’t too much of an improvement.” She looked left, at Widowmaker’s face. An unusual sight – she never thought she’d see her unconscious. Her gut coiled angrily, and she scowled. She wasn’t going to dwell on her nemesis ‘til she came to.

She reached around a purple leg and activated her comm. “Tracer here – I have Widowmaker. She got knocked out and she weighs a ton, reckon we have room for one more on the ship?”

_ “Tracer, I – have you lost your mind??”   _ Fareeha exclaimed.

“I’m not letting her get in the way of our missions again! We can hold her ‘til we know what the hell Talon’s up to,” Tracer said.  _ And maybe interrogate her,  _ she thought to herself.  _ I’d like to get a good few words in my damn self. _

“We should leave as soon as possible,” Genji said. “Not with this other agent here. We need to go  _ now.” _

The undercurrent in his voice set Tracer on edge.

Fareeha conceded with a deep, irritable sigh.  _ “Bring her in, Dr Ziegler can deal with her. I can cloak the ship temporarily… just in case. And her gun?” _

“She dropped it when she got knocked out,” Genji interjected. “But I can’t see it, or the other Talon agent.”

_ What?  _ Tracer looked back.

Unless her eyes were deceiving her, the rifle was indeed gone.

But there was no time to look for it. “ _ I see a Talon dropship. Hurry up!  _ ” Fareeha said.

“Tracer with baggage, coming in hot,” Tracer said, and she set off as fast as her legs could carry her at Genji’s side, blinking in threes to the ship that awaited them four blocks away.

In a puddle on the ground, the light on the Talon earpiece flashed, flickered, and fizzed out.

Viper looked up into the rain between the buildings he was using as shelter. His biotics glowed a soft lime, healing his body as he tracked the retreating Overwatch craft til it disappeared.

He raised a hand to his helmet. “They took Widowmaker,” he said into comms.

A low growl came from his only teammate on the other end.  _ “Affirmative. Make your way back to the ship. Reaper out.” _

“Viper out,” the Talon agent said. He hefted Widow’s Kiss in his arms and ran, suit glowing, as his speed-enhancing biotics propelled him into the dark.


	3. Lena's Overwatch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over the phone with her girlfriend Emily, Lena recounts the fallout of her mission after she returned to Watchpoint: Gibraltar.

**Lena bean:** hey luv   
**Lena bean:** call me when you can?

 

Lena, lying on her stomach with her chin on her arm, stared at the texts she’d sent Emily twenty minutes ago. The two had a routine for when Lena was stationed at Gibraltar, and while her girlfriend usually left work at the same time of night, sometimes she stayed late, and threw off the routine. This was one of those times.

Lena threw an arm over her eyes and sighed. The day's thoughts raced through her head as she lay exhausted on her bed, each trying to outdo the other. Encountering and capturing Widowmaker was now the least of her worries. The impulsive decision had opened up the floodgates when they’d arrived home a day later, and while Genji had been responsible for part of the decision, most of the blame lay on her shoulders.

Which was fair enough, Lena supposed. All she wanted right now, though, was to hear her girlfriend’s voice.

...But truthfully, lying on the bed waiting for someone wasn’t a good way to pass the time.

Her phone buzzed. Lena blearily tilted the device towards her. There, in the notification banner:

 

 **Emily wemily** **  
** hi sweetheart! xx

 

Lena rolled onto her stomach and unlocked her phone in a hurry, thumbs flying across the keyboard.

 

 **Lena bean:** Emily!! Xx  
**Emily wemily:** lena bee!  
**Lena bean:** wow I missed you  
**Lena bean:** how was your day? did anything exciting happen?  
**Lena bean:** what about work? hope your shift wasn’t too stressful  
**Lena bean:** my day was a lot and I want to talk about it but I cannwait cause I wanna hear about yours  
**Lena bean:** *can wait  
**Emily wemily:** work was frantic. jason misplaced the equipment so we had to rush into another ward for scalpels. it's the third time he's done it this week, and everyone’s pissed off. i honestly hope they fire the nutter. and slow down! im right here!

 

Lena bit her lip. She just couldn't resist typing so fast - the energy inside her was fit to burst.

 

 **Lena bean:** heheheh sorry luv, just excited to see you again xxxx  
**Emily wemily:** that's okay x call me?

 

Lena mashed the call button, and wiggled on the bed as she held her phone to her ear. When Emily picked up, she squeaked. “Hi!”

“Hi sweetheart,” Emily sang back, automatically redirected down one of Athena’s high security channels. “It’s good to hear your voice again.”

“Yours too. Are you in the kitchen?” Lena asked, as she could hear the sound of running water in the background.

“Yeah,” Emily said, putting a freshly washed red capsicum on her chopping board. “Making a stir fry.”

“Yum,” Lena said. She thought about their shared dinner dates, and Emily’s delicious cooking. “Wish I could help you eat it. Say hi to Jason for me before he gets fired, won't’cha?”

Emily snorted. “Yeh, sure, you menace. Say hi to Winston for me,” she said, and Lena could hear her smile. “And thank him for setting up these phone proxies.”

Lena swung her legs up so they were leaning up against the wall. “Of course, love,” she said gently. “Wouldn’t wanna let my best friend think his work was going to waste.”

“Now tell me about that busy day of yours, won't you?” Emily prompted, putting the phone on speaker mode on the windowsill so she could chop vegetables. “And I want details.”

“Hoo boy,” Lena said, pushing her hair out of her face. She smiled at the distinct sound of a knife on the old wooden chopping board Emily loved. “Lemme get the worst out of the way first…”

 

 

The old Gibraltar Watchpoint was the picture of an abandoned facility. Flaky metal signs with bold warnings of KEEP OUT and CONDEMNED that clung to rusting chain link fences forbade the curious from pushing further. Sea spray had crept into the old outdoor control rooms, rusting its shelves and peeling paint. Spiders made their homes in corners and crevices, and ancient monitors collected a thin veneer of dust.

It was the perfect cover, and one the few remaining Overwatch members took full advantage of. A small community thrived behind the disguise, where ex-members held the fort to teach the younger generation the art of saving the world.

But as stable as the old guard tried to make it seem, no amount of pleasantry could hide its unsteady heart.

“You brought her BACK?!”

Lena did not flinch in the face of Jack Morrison’s rage. She and Genji had recounted their mission during debrief with the old soldier in excruciating detail. “Well, the opportunity to get her out of the picture presented itself, sir, and I figured the world would have a better time gettin’ on with itself without one of the world’s top terrorist snipers running around.”

“How much of an idiot do you have to be to bring a decorated Talon sleeper agent BACK into this base? After all the things she’s done?” Jack said.

“She doesn’t have her rifle, sir, and we’ve sent her other gear down to the Lindholms to get checked for trackers.”

“And she doesn't have her rifle because she _dropped it?_ Did _anyone_ think to retrieve it??”

“I can provide the details, Commander,” Genji said, quietly. “It was my fault. Lena has explained her actions.”

“I listened in on her comm, Talon was sending backup,” Lena said, “and the gun was twelve stories below us on the ground.”

Jack fumed, rubbing his temples. The old soldier had enough to deal with, trying to make sense of Talon’s activity, chasing seven threads of bullshit at once. Keeping the team together was another beast. The last scraps of his family, torn apart by global scrutiny and operating in spite of the PETRAS Act, were barely holding themselves together. Everyone was on edge. Talon had started acting out again.

And now two of his agents had pulled this out of their ass.

“You said this new agent was called Viper?” Jack asked.

“Yes sir,” Lena said.

“And Genji, you passed judgement based on his actions?”

“I did,” Genji says, with a nod. “I would like to explain my decision.”

Jack nodded back. “Then I’ll speak with you privately. Lena… You’re dismissed. Go talk with Angela about the sniper. You brought her in, so you keep up to date on everything that happens to her, and keep reporting back to me on what you learn. After I’m done with Genji, I’m going to consolidate info on this Viper character and deal with the rest of this mess.”

Lena shared a glance with Genji, and knew better than to hang around. “Yes sir,” she said, saluting, before she turned on her heel and left.

 

“...And then,” Lena laughed, telling the story as she leaned back on the examination table in Angela Zeigler’s office, “she went, _swoop,_ and smashed into the wall. Can you _believe_ it?”

“Considering she nearly broke her nose, I do,” Angela said, peering through the rectangular glasses at the end of her nose, at the preliminary scan results she’d collected on Widowmaker. The sniper was sedated on a bed down the hall. “I'm not enthused by the bare essentials of what Talon’s done to her, and I dread to think about what I’ll discover when I dig.”

Lena looked closer at the screen. The chemical cocktail being uncovered wasn’t promising. “I wonder if that’s the same stuff in her venom mines.”

“It might be,” Angela said. “I plan on looking into it.”

“Knock knock,” Fareeha announced, pushing the office door open with a shoulder. She had changed into a navy blue muscle shirt and sweatpants to hit the gym after touching down. She held two steaming mugs in her hands. “Coffee?”

“Fareeha! You know me so well!” Angela exclaimed in delight, accepting the beverage from her wife. Black, one sugar, just the way she liked it. “It’s just what I needed.”

“Hi ‘Reeha,” Lena said, as the security chief leaned down to kiss the doctor. “Anything interesting happen since we landed?”

Fareeha grimaced. “I got an earful from Jack, no thanks to you and Genji.”

“I’ve been hearing the story,” Angela deadpanned, “but I think you just spoiled the ending.”

“Yeah,” Lena admitted, scratching the back of her head. There wasn’t much she could do to defend herself in front of the base’s guardian angels. Flying out to Australia, and going off script like that...

Fareeha sipped her green tea and thought before replying. “I do want Widowmaker to see justice for what she’s done to all those people.”

“You always want people to see justice,” Lena teased.

“Yes, but for me, it’s _personal_ . _You_ let your debatably golden heart dictate your actions,” Fareeha teased back, hiding a smile in another sip of tea.

“What does that mean?!” Lena exclaimed. _“Debatably_ golden?”

This time, Fareeha couldn’t hide her smirk. “It means you do good things but you’re a little shit about them.”

_“Hey!”_

“If you’re going to bicker, _please_ get out of my office,” Angela said dryly, swivelling her chair and glaring at them both. “I need to look after what the _cats_ dragged in.”

Fareeha coughed to hide her embarrassed grin, and if Lena had cat ears, they’d have flicked back as she pouted.

“Where’s Mei?” Fareeha asked, back on task, wondering after Angela’s lab mate. Angela and Mei-Ling Zhou made fantastic lab partners, and got along quite comfortably in close working quarters, despite their separate fields of medicine and climatology. “She’s usually hard at work at this hour.”

“We were out of almond milk, so she went to get groceries,” Angela explained, turning once again to the results on her screen. “I’ll be running tests and collecting data for a few hours yet, and we’re moving the sniper to a holding cell when I’m done. It’s only...” she glanced at her watch, “Ten to six.”

 _Ten to six!!_ Lena straightened up. “You sure about the time, doc?”

“Yes, Lena, I’m confident in my watch batteries,” Angela said, raising an eyebrow quizzically. “Is something wrong?”

“Prior appointment! I gotta go! See you Angie! Bye ‘Reeha!” Lena called, shooting out of the room like a rocket.

Fareeha and Angela shared a look, and couldn’t help their laughter.

 

“You go, funky little plumber,” Lena said glumly, an hour after she’d sprinted so eagerly from Angela’s office, munching one of Brigitte’s strawberry pocky sticks.

Brigitte Lindholm smiled, ever positive, and pressed a button combo on her Nintendo controller. Mario jumped up a ledge, grabbed a handful of coins, and stomped a goomba. “The Italian man with a plan strikes again,” the blacksmith said happily, eating a handful of chips.

The two were sharing a beanbag in one of the base’s break rooms, Brigitte leaning forwards on her knees and Lena folded messily under her armpit. They were waiting on their other two friends, Lúcio and Hana, to come online, as both were halfway around the globe – Lúcio on tour, Hana winding down with the rest of her MEKA team. It wasn’t often the group managed to coordinate casual down time, so they had to make the best of it.

“When’s your girlfriend getting on, already?” Lena griped. “We’ve been here for nearly an hour.”

“I know,” Brigitte sighed, placing a hand on Lena’s knee to calm her jiggling leg. “We did _confirm_ changing the time to 1800 hours with them, right? After we’d agreed on 1900 previously?”

Lena turned bright red. “Wh- What?” she spluttered, hastily checked her watch and phone. _6:57:32_ and _18:57._ “No. No, I thought we said six. I thought we’d said six!” Lena dragged a hand down her face, and slumped into the beanbag.

“Lena, it's okay,” Brigitte said. “You’ve been getting better at it. Just because you slipped up once doesn’t mean it’s the end of the world.”

Lena shuffled a bit so she could face her friend. “I know it’s not the end of the world, I’m annoyed that it happened _again_ , Bri! I’d been getting so good at managing my time. This, this is the worst stuff up I’ve had in ages. S’just another reminder that time still messes with my head.”

A notification popped up on the corner of their screen. _D.Va is now online._

“Oh, there she is,” Brigitte remarked as Lena groaned in relief, switching into the title screen of the new _Fire of Ages_ they'd wanted to check out. Right on cue, Hana requested to join their party, and Brigitte accepted immediately.

“I’m in!” D.Va sang, in her practiced streamer’s chirp, already live. “How’s everyone doing tonight?”

“Hiya D.Va!” Lena said, waggling her fingers hello.

“Hey girlfriend,” Brigitte said, waving at the screen.

“Hiya Brigitte, hiya Lance!” D.Va replied, using a fake name to help keep Lena’s identity a secret. “Is Lúcio on yet?”

A second notification appeared. _KamboStyle requested to join party!_

“Ladies and gentlemen, are we live?” Lúcio drawled, the second he joined the voice channel. Lena could practically hear his huge grin, the kind reserved just for when he was joshing around on camera.

“We sure are!” D.Va said, watching her stream’s chat explode in real time. “How are _you_ doing today, Lúcio?”

“I’m doing just fine, thanks for asking! I forgot my webcam, though. No handsome mug for you today.”

“Oh, I’m glad to hear you two are doing well,” Lena said, slipping into a crowd-pleasing voice of her own out of habit. “But I gotta ask: How come you were both so late?”

“I thought we’d agreed to get on now?” D.Va remarked. “I’m right on time! Considering it’s…” She paused. “Two in the morning. Has daylight savings started or something?”

Lena groaned in defeat. “I’m sorry, everyone, I got the time wrong again… I swore I had it right this time.”

D.Va laughed. “Losing track of time _again_ , Lance? Who would’ve guessed? Write it down next time!”

Lena grumbled. At least, according to an agreement they had, nobody knew who she was on stream. That’d be _mortifying._

“I guess we didn’t confirm, then... We could write a chart, and stick it in the break room?” Brigitte offered, grounded and practical beside her limelight-loving friends. “That way we won’t miss it.”

“Or make phone reminders,” D.Va offered. “That way your phone reminds _you.”_

“Just make a document in cloud storage,” Lúcio said. “So we can all edit it, and check in when it’s time.”

“Yeah,” Lena sighed, getting comfy with her game controller. “I think I like that idea. Thanks, Luce.”

“Are we ready~?” D.Va chirped.

“I think so,” Lúcio confirmed.

“And we’re off!” Lena chimed in, punching air.

Brigitte rolled her eyes fondly and hit _Search for match._

 

Two hours later, D.Va quit her stream. The four of them shut down their consoles, and switched to high-encryption channels so they could chat without spilling secrets to the world. Lúcio’s video feed, however, remained disappointingly empty.

Hana pulled off her bunny-eared headphones and slumped in her chair. “I know you, Lena. You never drop your personas if you’re on camera. You got _really_ casual today. What’s on your mind?”

Lena laughed. She’d dropped her game face about half an hour in, and her flattened tone had not gone unnoticed by her teammates. She never failed to be surprised by how easily they could read her. “Ah, well, y’see, it’s kinda complicated…”

Lúcio’s audio feed rustled as he leaned forwards. “It had to be pretty serious to break that habit of yours. What’s wrong?”

Lena worried her lower lip between her teeth, aware that Brigitte had also turned to her in concern. Three sets of eyes. One complicated story. “Well, we went on a mission today, right…”

“Oh boy,” Lúcio said.

Lena blew the hair out of her face. “Intel said Talon was employing a new agent, some Australian guy. We thought it’d have one or two other members. So we go there, right, an’ I see Widowmaker before anyone else. So I engage. We’re runnin’ around, yeah, she kicks me, gets away, the usual--”

“The usual,” Brigitte said dryly.

“Shush, I’m tellin’ a story. Then Genji comes, an’ the other guy shows up. He looks like total Talon material, big snakey outfit, claws, a drama queen, y’know. Long story short is that Genji incapacitates Widowmaker and she’s out cold. I eavesdrop on her comm and hear that backup is coming, so Genji and I pack up shop and bring her back to base. Angie’s running tests on her right now, and she’ll put Widowmaker in a cell in a couple of hours.”

Lúcio whistled under his breath. “That… is definitely complicated.”

“Is she _really_ on base _right now?!”_ Hana exclaimed. “Are you _serious??”_

“I am one hundred percent serious, Hana. I’ve been all over the place today at Jack’s orders, I haven’t even been able to catch up with Winston.”

“Wait… Lena,” Brigitte warned, “are you sure that’s safe? That she’s here?”

“Yeah,” Lena said. “She hasn’t got her rifle, it’s kinda… lost on the pavement. We didn't have time to retrieve it. You and your dad have the rest of her gear.”

“Wow,” Lúcio said. “All I can say is wow.”

 

“...And then we changed topics ‘cause it was a little awkward, and chatted about boring stuff for a bit, and then Yuna got mad at Hana for being up all night and dragged her away from the computer, so we all went our separate ways, and I was so tired I went straight to my room. I’m gonna catch Winston up tomorrow. And _that_ was my day.”

“Oh, love, that sounds awful,” Emily said, when Lena was done talking. After backtracking several times to get all the details straight, Emily had had time to pack up the kitchen and change clothes. Now, she lounged in bed. “I’m so sorry to hear about all that.”

Lena sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Yeah… but today’s over. Now I can just focus on tomorrow.”

“You and me both,” Emily agreed. “I’ve got to be up in… less than six hours.”

“Emily!” Lena exclaimed. “If I could throw a pillow at you--! Go to sleep!”

“Augh, don’t hit me with that!” Emily joked. “I surrender! I’ll go to bed. I wanted to listen to you first. You sounded awful.”

“Mmgh, fine. But you gotta sleep.”

Emily kissed her phone. “I’ll see you tomorrow, pilot. Don’t do anything stupid in the meanwhile.”

“You have so little faith in me, Em.”

Emily laughed, and laid her phone on her pillow. _“You’re_ fine. I’m worried about the trouble that _follows_ you.”

“Mm, fair,” Lena said. “I’m gonna end the call so Athena doesn’t get mad. Talk to you soon,” she murmured, kissing next to the microphone.

“Goodnight, Lena.”

“‘Night, Emmie,” Lena said, and ended the call, placing the phone on her bedside table.

Lena lay on her back, and prepared to drift off to sleep.

It didn’t come easily. After a while, she rolled onto her side. Then her other side. She even tried lying on her stomach.

She tried to sleep. She really did. But she _couldn’t._

Lena lay on her back, hands on her belly, staring up at the ceiling. It should be fine. Why couldn’t she just sleep? There wasn’t anything… particularly nagging her…

Well, there was Widowmaker. Knocked out. Now, potentially, no longer knocked out. It had been hours since she’d spoken with Angela, so there was a possibility...

It was one of those nights where her mind refused to shut up, and she was getting annoyed. So what if Jack chewed her out? She deserved it. Small slip ups got away from her, like a domino line of little things that stressed out everyone. On a mission, between her friends. A chain reaction of stupid.

And all because of Widowmaker.

Lena dismissed the thought and rolled onto her side, putting a pillow on her head. It wasn’t all because of Widowmaker. She was just… relevant today.

Her perseverance in the face of her subconscious was valiant. But the urge to visit the sniper was too powerful.

With a resigned exhale, Lena threw off the covers, and put on her slippers. One again, her impulses won. It was time to visit the medical wing.


	4. Keep Your Friends Close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Overwatch settles into a tense routine as they try not to argue about the sniper’s stay.

Widowmaker sat on the edge of her bed, glowering at the far wall of her cell.

She'd been unconscious, yes, but for how long? Waking up in an orange jumpsuit on a cold, thin mattress was unpleasant, but not unexpected. She scanned her eyes around the dark room. No windows, mirrors, or chairs; just a humming, pale yellow hard light barrier replacing the need for bars. There wasn’t even a blanket.

_ I can’t believe that happened, _ she berated herself.  _ Now you’re in a cell. _

Well. The mission could have gone a lot better. But it  _ could  _ have gone a lot worse.

Her head hurt. She shifted where she sat, resting her elbows on her knees and lacing her fingers together while she stared a hole in the floor. Her nose throbbed faintly, and she directed her anger at every pulse into furthering her own emptiness. She inhaled, gathering herself, and exhaled, letting the feelings slide off her like water off a hydrophobic coat. The pain in her nose became less noticeable, and her focus sharpened.

The dull ache of a bruise on her inner elbow told her she'd had blood draws. She couldn’t judge how many tests had been done, and how long she’d been under, but that was a loss she’d have to bear. She was a prisoner now. The Overwatch emblem was embroidered on the breast of her outfit, and she picked at it. It seemed they couldn’t miss an opportunity to show off how far their head was wedged up their ass. How pathetic. 

She listened. There was the barrier, most prominently. Secondary to that was a faint whirr; air conditioning, if she had to guess. An analog clock was set high on the wall in the hallway, and its ticking was faint. If she strained, she fancied she could hear the ocean.

_ That's all, _ she thought.  _ So little to work with. _

According to the clock, she spent nearly ten minutes in contemplation before distant beeps, and soft footsteps, sounded in the hall. She perked up. It was late - Nearly eleven pm. Who could it be?

The disappointment she felt when Tracer appeared in front of the cell, impassive, decidedly un-cheery, and simmering, squashed her more positive ideas.

The Overwatch agent was in pyjamas, with the chronal accelerator strapped over the top, and its blue light lent a soft glow to the planes of her face.  _ It can't have been that long,  _ Widowmaker thought.

Tracer looked the sniper up and down. “Enjoy your first week here?” she said.

The bottom dropped out of Widowmaker’s stomach. It  _ couldn't  _ have been a week. Tracer had to be bluffing, and it was one of the worst bluffs she’d ever heard. She formulated a good snark, but fear, nagging fear, beat her to it. “What did they do to me?” she asked.

Tracer squinted at her enemy, lips pursed to the side. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because I deserve to know,” Widowmaker said, quick and level, thinking of the needle mark on her arm.

“Well, I can't tell you. I wasn't there,” Tracer said, shrugging nonchalantly.

“Can you find out?” Widow asked.

Tracer hummed, drawing out the sound, and made an exaggerated chin scratching motion.

The silence grew. Widowmaker narrowed her eyes.

“Nah, I don’t want to,” Tracer said, the very second Widow opened her mouth to speak. She couldn’t resist getting a few jabs without the danger of a return punch.

Widowmaker fumed. “I’m not going to bicker with you like a  _ child. _ If you’re not going to provide me with that simple answer, then leave me alone.”

The pilot nodded her head from side to side. Then she slid to the floor, arm propped on one knee, the other leg extended in front. She rested her head on the wall and stared.

Widowmaker, unimpressed and unamused, turned to inspecting her nails.

“It’s been almost 48 hours since you got knocked out,” Lena offered, eventually. “The doc did some tests so she could figure out what your blood makeup is and check ya for trackers. Don’t want you dropping dead on us, or leading Talon straight here. And that’s the truth.”

“Talon will find me,” Widowmaker said with absolute certainty, still irritated by the previous lie, “And you will be sorry when they do.”

“This base is safe. Nothing’s gonna happen to you here. It’s secure.”

_ “They  _ are more invested in finding me than Overwatch ever was,” Widowmaker said. “Come back with that argument when they do the same for you.”

Lena pitched forwards in anger. “They - they found me! They got me back from the slipstream! I was here, there, and everywhere, and they got me out!”

“Congratulations. Perhaps I am blinded by my own experience,” Widowmaker said dryly.

Lena slumped against the wall, stumped by the answer. Then she perked up again. “Wait. You remember that?”

“Enough to form opinions. I’m more surprised  _ you  _ remember.”

“Word got out,” Lena said. “Heard it down the grapevine, long ago.”

The sniper flicked her eyes over her enemy. She couldn’t judge how much Tracer knew about her life before she was taken by Talon. She lay down and faced the wall.

Lena, not wanting to stare at Widowmaker’s back, craned her head back and watched the clock.

“Do you remember anything about Amélie?”

Lena wasn’t expecting to be addressed. “We were friends,” she offered. More than acquaintances, less than close. She’d only met her lovely commander’s lovelier wife, the dancer, a few times, but when they  _ had  _ met… It was impossible to dislike the woman, and so easy to see why Gérard Lacroix had fallen in love with her. And then, when Talon found a way to take him out... “Hearing about what happened drove a stake in the org. It wasn’t pretty.”

Widowmaker took a moment to think to herself. She lay her head on the pillow, and didn’t reply.

She didn’t hear the Overwatch agent leave. Minutes passed, and she wondered what Lena was doing.

The answer came with a gentle snore. She looked over her shoulder. Lena was sound asleep, head lolled to the side, legs out in front of her. The light of her accelerator spilled around her, a soft wash of blue in the hall that pulsed in time with her breaths.

A smile tugged the corner of Widowmaker’s lips, and she lay back down.

_ Foolish girl. _

  
  


“No,” Jack Morrison said, banging his fist on the meeting table. “Absolutely not.”

“And you think you have a better idea?” Lena said, turning to face him instead of the screen Angela had up, brimming with data. “You wanna let her just-”

“It’s bad enough that she’s in Overwatch territory. I’m not peddling to her every need.”

“And just let her  _ die _ ?” Lena snapped.

Jack grumbled and tapped his fingers against the tabletop. He’d called all available Overwatch agents to a meeting after Angela had spent nearly 24 hours scrambling for - and failing to find - a way to stabilise the sniper. Those who weren’t nearby were on a hastily set up video call. It was a lot of people, and he refused to let the audience derail Angela’s briefing. “There is  _ no  _ evidence she will  _ die _ .”

“Lena,” Lúcio said, through a blue tinted holo screen, with a 245 millisecond delay, “Angela’s evidence says it’ll be two weeks before she goes through withdrawal. And even then - it’ll be slow going. I know you’re worried, but that’s plenty of time.”

“Thank you,” Angela said gracefully, from where she stood at the front of the room. “The state of our purple quarry’s degeneration does have a half life of about a week and a half.”

“Just… just call her Widowmaker, doc,” Lena said, exasperated.

Angela made a funny noise in the back of her throat. “The treatment she received at Talon is complex. I should be able to synthesise something to help stabilise her, but I'll need time, and lots of it - as much as I can get in the next two weeks.”

“But what do we  _ do _ with her? Is she really just going to stay in a holding cell the whole time?” Brigitte asked, sitting in between the old knight Reinhardt and her father Torbjörn. 

“I vote we get rid of her,” Torbjörn grumbled. “It won’t do us any good to let her stay in here forever. Who knows  _ what  _ she could do, even without her kit.”

“Oh?” Lena hissed, leaning in. “You wanna let her suffer even  _ more _ after she was-”

“ _ Please _ don’t bring up old wounds, this situation is difficult enough as it is,” Angela interjected, weary, dark rings under her eyes. Fareeha had quietly asked Jack if she could skip the meeting for this exact reason, and Angela almost envied her. Almost. “We have her because she works for a horrible organisation that’s always tried to take us down. She has undergone a mental and physical reconditioning process that is an insult to the very  _ concept _ of ethics. If we  _ can _ save her during the time that she’s here, we will.”

“I can bring it up if I want to,” Lena replied without thinking, not entirely sure why she was so angry and only half interested in controlling it.

“Lena, that is  _ completely _ uncalled for and you know it,” Winston interjected, always intent on keeping the peace. The scientist frowned down at his best friend. “It's a difficult topic for all of us, but infighting is only going to leave us in the same state as Talon. We need to focus on what's happening  _ now. _ And it might be useful to keep her for a while, to see if we can get information out of her. We could certainly use a little insight on whatever’s going on in Talon.” 

Reinhardt spoke up from the other side of the table. “Winston is right,” he said gravely, lacing his fingers together and resting on his huge forearms. “She may be an old friend, But she’s responsible for the deaths of  _ so _ many, including people dear to us. We  _ can't _ treat her the same way we used to.” The jagged scar over his blind eye shone in stark relief under the fluorescent lighting. “No matter how much it may hurt.”

There was no need to voice the fact that Ana Amari had died at Widowmaker’s hand. Doing so, even with Fareeha out of the room, would throw the whole meeting into chaos. The old knight was acutely aware of this fact.

Lena rubbed her temples. “You're... right. I'm sorry,” she said. Winston and Reinhardt were the most reasonable people on base at any given time. “I shouldn't have said any of that. I've been feeling really out of sorts lately, and I shouldn't take it out on you lot. I'm sorry.”

Jack responded first. “Apology accepted, we’re all on edge lately. If we could continue, please?”

“Her equipment is riddled with tracking devices,” Torbjörn lamented, straight to the point. “Brigitte and I were up for hours double checking the bloody things. We’re running out of space in our Faraday cabinet.”

Mei, carefully listening to the proceedings from where she sat next to Angela, raised her hand to speak. “I have a huge pile of boxes, if you need to make some new, smaller cages.”

Torbjörn politely waved her away. “Thank you for the offer, but we’ll be fine. Most of the parts are small, but we keep them separate. We’ll find the room, I was trying to make a point.”

Lena slid into her chair as people kept talking. Why was she so upset? Why was she so unsettled? The answer was just beyond her reach, she could  _ feel _ it.

“Er, since you mention tracking devices,” Angela chimed in after a minute. “The next scan is… something I need to show you. If you are squeamish, steel yourself.” She pointed a remote at the screen to change slides, and, even with the warning, there were exclamations of disgust.

Visible in front and profile scans of the sniper’s head was a small, round device, similar in appearance to a pacemaker, nestled under her cerebellum. A very long, thin cord, dotted with tiny barbed hooks, ran parallel to her spinal column. It had clearly been there a long time.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Mei breathed, covering her mouth. “That’s  _ horrible!” _

“That is what I believe to be a tracking device,  _ inside  _ her skull. As you can clearly see here,” she said, pointing at the barbs, “It would be incredibly dangerous, and probably lethal, to remove.”

The room became deathly quiet.

“That's not right,” Torbjörn muttered, serious as the grave. “There are no  _ humans _ at Talon.”

“Agreed,” Jack said. “Is that all you had to share, Angela? 

“For now, yes,” Angela said, clasping her hands in front of her.

Lena, deep in thought, now also deeply upset, found herself unable to focus as the meeting progressed. Genji talked about Viper having a movement style he’d seen in his Blackwatch days, but other than that, she barely listened. Something wasn’t right, and she couldn’t put it together.

_ I’ll give it a few hours,  _ she thought to herself, looking up at the scans,  _ and then I’ll talk to Widow. _

  
  


“G’morning,” Lena said the next day, as she sauntered into view outside Widowmaker’s cell.

Widowmaker lay on her cot, ignoring her visitor in favor of the clock’s ticking minute hand. “Come to taunt me again, have you?”

Lena sat on the floor, legs out in front, arms propping her up. She cocked her head to the side. “That’d be pretty easy, huh.”

“It would,” Widowmaker said, making eye contact.

“Not like you could fire back.”

“With words, I could, yes.”

“If you had your rifle, yeah.”

“Mm. Where is it?”

Lena blew her fringe away. “I don’t know. And I mean that,” she said, seeing Widowmaker’s eyes narrow. “You dropped it after you got smacked by a building.”

The sniper sighed through her nose and sat up. “The Widow’s Kiss has a failsafe for when it is put under significant stress. For example, falling a few stories without me. As long as the parts were collected, she should be fine.”

_ She.  _ Lena blinked. “You like it an awful lot, huh.”

The sniper didn't hesitate. “Tell me how long you’d survive without that harness.”

Lena glared, and her hands moved to protect her glowing second heart. “Right, right, go for the jugular,” she muttered.

Widowmaker kept a smile to herself. As if she'd willingly give up her fifth limb. At least Tracer understood how it felt.

“...Truce?”

“Quoi?”

“Don’t... make me reconsider sayin’ this,” Lena warned. “The others haven’t been on missions against you. You don’t try to kill me. You do a damn good job of pretending. But I'm not an idiot. I figured it out, y'know, after one too many close shaves. Look at this,” she said, pointing to the cut high on her left cheekbone, now a nasty scab. “I was a sitting duck. Fish in a barrel. And you  _ missed? _ After you got Mondatta square in the face in a free fall?”

Widowmaker said nothing. Impressed as she was with the observation, she wasn’t going to let her enemy know that easily. “Why are you visiting me?” she asked, eventually. 

Lena was silent for a minute. “I... dunno. I didn’t like the way the others treated you.”

The answer surprised the sniper. “What do you mean?”

Lena laughed softly. “I mean… you used to be a person, right? You used to be someone’s wife. Their friend’s wife, right? An’ now they treat you like a  _ thing. _ There was this big meeting about you. Something was bugging me, and… I think that was it. Also, ‘cause you ask so many questions,” she said, giving the sniper a little lopsided smile, teeth just visible behind her lips. “I didn’t know you  _ that  _ well, before everything got nasty for both of us, but we were friendly. You  _ do  _ keep missing me, and you keep not killing me. An’ I reckon I’ll never tell anyone that.”

Widowmaker couldn’t quite hide her surprise. “Your analysis is interesting,” she commented. She wasn't going to fall into a potential interrogation strategy that easily. 

Tracer shrugged. “I reckon now that you’re not a real threat, you deserve… I don’t know. Not a chance, specifically. More like… A listening ear? A little empathy? Damn,” she said, and smacked her hand on her forehead. “I’m all over the place.”

“I am certainly declawed without my kit,” Widowmaker agreed, not willing to comment on anything else.

After a moment’s hesitation, Lena pulled a small wooden box out of the cloth bag she’d brought with her. “I reckon you’re probably losing your mind in there. So I, er, got a way to help keep you entertained. As an apology for last night.”

Widow raised her eyebrows. It was a portable game of checkers. She moved closer to the yellow hard light barrier, leaning in so she could see the board as Lena positioned it right up against the field.

“I got a chess set too, in case you wanted to do that later,” Lena offered.

“Can’t get enough of a good game with me, can you?” Widowmaker taunted.

Irritation flashed in Tracer’s eyes. “Do you want to play or not?”

“I’d rather play chess. I can’t notate checkers.”

“Fine,” Lena said, folding up the checkers set. After she’d set up the chessboard, she pretended to doff her hat. “Ladies first,” she said. “I'll move your pieces for you.”

“So charming. Pawn to e4,” Widowmaker said, resting her chin on her fist, not wasting a second of this enjoyable peace.

Lena politely moved the white pawn, and then they were off.

It quickly became apparent that, even when putting in her best effort, Lena was horrible at chess. As the game progressed, the floor space beside the board filled with her own pieces faster than it did Widow’s.

Widowmaker sat, deep in thought, after Lena took her last bishop. She scanned her eyes over the board. What could she do, what could she do…

A devious grin crept across her face as she realised Lena had made one fatal mistake.

“Knight to c3,” she said triumphantly. “Checkmate.”

“What?” Lena exclaimed, but she obediently moved the knight, and took her rook off the board. Widowmaker was right - she'd boxed her king in behind her other pieces. She threw her hands up in defeat. “Ugh!”

Widowmaker leaned back on her hands, refusing to squash her smug smile. “It seems I've bested you this time, chérie.”

“Fine, you win, let’s play checkers.”

“You’re not a sore loser, are you?” Widowmaker teased.

“No, I’m good at checkers!” Lena complained. “Unless you want a rematch?”

“Then I look forward to besting you again.”

Lena gasped. “Oh, it is  _ on, _ you,  _ you,” _ she started, resetting the board with great speed in her frustration. “I’m not letting you win that easily!”

_ Oh, _ Widowmaker thought, as Lena scrambled to put the pawns in place,  _ if she’s THIS easy to needle, her visits may just end up being  _ **_fun._ **

  
  


“She’s really good, tactically speaking.”

“You played checkers with her,” Jack said.

“...Chess first, then checkers.”

“You played board games with the Talon agent who nearly killed you.”

“Yes sir,” Lena said, as neutrally as possible. She’d kept out the details of their conversation, reporting only on Widowmaker’s condition, tidbits about the Widow’s Kiss, and how she’d initially refused to talk. “I’d heckled her earlier, I wanted to apologise, but… thought it was appropriate. To build trust.”

Jack sighed, probably just about the heaviest exhale Lena had heard from him in days, and he rubbed his eyes. “I really don’t know what to say, Lena. You’re too honest. I don’t know what you see in  _ socialising  _ with her. If you don’t keep a level head,  _ she  _ may end up getting information out of  _ you.” _

Lena thought carefully about her next words. Disappointed Jack was mildly unpredictable, and Stressed Jack was prone to digging his heels in and refusing to budge until his plans worked. And the worst part - she couldn’t tell if he was disappointed with  _ her, _ or if his exhaustion at the situation around them was seeping into his interactions. It was probably the latter, but... she hated the thought of Widowmaker coming into the line of fire. Well - metaphorically. Literally was her job. Better to keep the pressure off as long as possible. “I’m... getting closer to her,” she offered. “I’m gettin’ her trust. If she trusts me, I’ll have an easier time getting information.” It wasn’t a lie, she hated lying, but it was enough.

“You best be right. We have the threat of Talon’s so-called war looming over our heads if they get their act together, and they’re more unstable than ever. That is  _ not  _ a good combination. If you can’t get  _ something  _ from her soon, I may have to resort to other methods.” Jack clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Good luck, agent. I’m leaving that to you.”

When he’d left, Lena exhaled and leant on the wall, shoulders sagging in relief.

_ Whew. It was enough. _

For now.

She didn’t want to play the secrets game on her own turf but, for the sniper’s sake, there was no other option.


	5. Old Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions continue to rise as old scars reopen, the base’s elders begin to worry, and Angela considers her options for treating Widowmaker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [politely borrows Michael from [Of Gods and Monsters](https://archiveofourown.org/series/972024)]

“Hi luv,” Lena said, taking her usual place next to the hard light barrier.

“Hello,” Widowmaker greeted her, from where she lay on the floor. Over the past six days, Lena’s visits had become a near-daily routine. “What are you coming to bother me with today?”

“My ugly face, and Overwatch gossip,” Lena said in a conspiratory way, wiggling her eyebrows. “Nah, I'm afraid I haven't got much fun for you today. I’m supposed to be getting information out of you, and my bosses are startin’ to press me about it,” Lena said plainly, as she leaned against the barrier. It made a soft noise as it compensated for the pressure. “We’ve been mighty concerned about what's going on inside Talon. They figure you might be able to help us out.”

“I did notice you haven't been pressuring me. Is there a catch?”

Lena bit her lip. The two women now harboured a sense of trust. It was genuine, but delicate, and Lena was loath to damage it. “Angie’s been analysing your bloodwork with a team of chemists off site. They reckon they can reverse-engineer your reconditioning stuff, cause without it, you're gonna go into withdrawal.” She shouldn't be giving this information, and she knew it, but… leaving Widowmaker in the dark left a sour taste in her mouth. “Angie reckons she might be able to make a non-addictive version for you.”

“No,” the sniper said firmly. _“No.”_

 _Whew. And that's why._ “We don't know how you're gonna react once the current batch wears off, love-”

“I will _not_ let these _fools_ be the ones to take control of my reconditioning,” Widowmaker hissed. “I will _not_ work for Overwatch.”

Realisation dawned on Lena as its implications became clear. “Oh, no, luv, oh _no,_ they wouldn't do that-”

“And how do you know? How do you _know_ they won't. You have said yourself: They treat me like a thing. I am a pawn in the games of others.” She drilled her eyes into her enemy’s. _“You_ may have some degree of trust, but I do not. _Prove_ they won't do it to make me compliant, and either remove me permanently from their petty fighting, or use me for themselves.”

Shit. _Shit._ Every part of Lena knew that Angie wouldn't stoop that low, and most of her didn't want to believe it of the rest of Overwatch. But, as the two-week mark of Lacroix’s capture approached, the base was getting nervous. The old wounds around Gérard’s assassination were being reopened with no easy conclusions. Arguments were rife, and the lines being drawn around their prisoner’s autonomy were becoming tenuous at best. Angela and Lena were fighting to keep Widowmaker’s dignity, but Lena hadn’t considered the possibility that Widowmaker could be used by Overwatch, whether Angela was involved or not. She hardened her resolve. “Luv, I need to ask you a question.”

“What is it?”

“A few people on base don't care about your welfare in ways they probably should. That's not really a secret. But I don't want to fall into that trap. Is there…” Lena trailed off, thinking hard about her next words. “Is there a name I can call you? Somethin’ that's not Widowmaker. You… You deserve the courtesy. After… everything. It's my fault you're in here again, and I'm not gonna let them _use_ you. They should know better than that, and as hard as I can, I'll keep pushing for your protection.”

 _Valiant, or foolhardy,_ Widowmaker thought, watching Lena bounce her knees as she sat cross legged. _But a kind gesture._ “Amélie... will be fine,” she admitted, and to her surprise, her old name felt good on her tongue.

Lena’s face lit up. “Brilliant. That's stayin’ between us. Cross my heart.” She did the motion. “I dunno if you remember, but… my name’s Lena.”

“It was a small fact in my memory,” Widowmaker said. “And you've said it offhand. But it's good to hear formally.”

Lena grinned. “Amélie, I promise you, I'm not gonna let anyone in this base take advantage of you in any way, and if they try, I'll raise hell.”

The ghost of a genuine smile flitted across Widowmaker’s face. “Coming from you, chérie, that is a statement I believe.”

The two smiled at one another, content, and the moment began to stretch.

“...Okay but they _are_ gonna bust my ass if I don’t come back with information, help me out. Give me _something_ to work with,” Lena pleaded.

Widowmaker thought to herself. “There’s a man in Vishkar who answers directly to Sanjay Korpal, who is in league with Talon. Two more assist that line of communication between Talon and Vishkar. Their disappearance won’t affect me in any way.”

Lena’s eyebrows rose. “If that’s real, Jack’ll have a field day.”

“It is,” Widowmaker said, and she listed them one by one.

Lena ran the names through her mind til she was sure she’d remember. “Thanks, luv. Got anything else?” she tried.

“I’m not telling you more.”

“What! Amélie!”

“Make something up if you want more that badly, or I’m revoking your name privileges.”

“Rrgh, You are _horrible.”_

  

“...And then we discussed how she could play cards through the field, and I told her I could make a little stand for the cards and spread them out so she could see them, and pick them by pointing, but we figured that was too complicated, but we’re getting bored of chess and don't know what to do. I suggested Chess 2: Ultra Chess, where we make up our own rules, but she laughed at me.”

“You're so funny, pet,” Emily giggled on the other end of the line, as Lena caught her up during her lunch break at the hospital. Emily was sitting outside in her scrubs, enjoying a rare bit of sunshine as she ate.

Lena kept talking. “She's started smilin’ a bit more too. Y'know, when she's not in a position where she could shoot me to death, it's a really pretty smile.”

“Sounds like someone’s got a crush,” Emily teased.

“Emily!” Lena exclaimed, mortified. “I do not have a _crush_ on Widowmaker!”

Emily grinned into her egg salad sandwich. “Well, with how much you talk about her smile and face and how fun she is to play games with, you'd have to forgive me for connecting some dots. You're as transparent as a pane of glass, sweetie.”

“I, _hate,_ you,” Lena groaned. “You have no business bein’ this in tune with my preferences.”

“I'm your girlfriend, dummy,” Emily said. “I know when you've got a crush. But,” she added, “you’re also an idiot. Are they really, _really_ making you interrogate her? If it’s taking this long to get anything out of her?”

“Luv, I don’t _want_ to interrogate her. I used to, I wanted to when we picked her up, but my opinion’s been changing. Slowly. And now I’m seeing, like, it’s like the rest of the team’s in limbo, they don’t want to push ‘cause of who she used to be but they’re all champing at the bit to get something to combat Talon, so they’re sending me in ‘cause it’s apparently punishment but also I’m the one who’s had the most contact with her in the field over the last few years. And of _course_ I don't want to use her.” Lena sighed. “It sounds like crap, I’m honestly afraid they’re stalling her out ‘til she starts deteriorating before they press for information.”

Emily finished the last bite of her sandwich. “That’s what I was about to wonder. I’m not too enthusiastic about that possibility.”

Lena rested her chin in her hand. “I’m sure they wouldn’t do it on purpose, cause… I don’t think they’d be that malicious. Nobody here’s like that. Out for blood, I mean. They’re just... stressed,” Lena explained, ruefully. “I'm stationed here for a couple more weeks. I’m gonna keep an eye out for Amélie while I’m still on base, an’ we can discuss the crush you _think_ I have when I get home, okay?”

Emily rolled her eyes, an affectionate movement she knew Lena couldn’t see. “Yeah, duck. You know it’s okay if you think she’s cute, right? I don’t mind. We’ve gone over this.”

“Urrrgh, stop _bullying me,”_ Lena complained.

Emily giggled, and checked her watch. “Alright, love, lunch’s over, you’ve been spared this time around. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Talk to you later, luv. Don’t drop the scalpels!”

“Bye Lena, you joker.”

“Bye!”

_Beep!_

 

A couple of hours after Lena's visit, Widowmaker got a visitor she didn’t expect.

Reinhardt Wilhelm took a great, suffering sigh as he lowered himself into the little metal chair Lena had brought to the end of the hall two days ago. He said nothing, and fixed his weary eyes on Widowmaker.

He had come to ask questions about Ana Amari, but against his better judgement, his mind wandered back to Gérard Lacroix and his wife. He remembered how Amélie trailed behind him like a swan when she was invited to see the premises. They were such lovebirds.

He tried not to dwell on days long past, when Overwatch were a family. A family of great renown, who had found each other among the rubble of a war, torn apart again and again by evil, and turned into a mockery of itself. Amélie, kidnapped. Gérard, dead. Gabriel Reyes, presumed dead. Ana Amari, his fleeting lover and long time friend, dead. Jack Morrison, commander turned vigilante, clinging to the hope that this could all be restored. And the rest of them...

He stared deep into Widowmaker’s eyes, trying to find some semblance of personality, or regret, or even hatred, in that blank and empty face. He had come to ask about Ana, but he hesitated, and his silence stretched.

Widowmaker, meanwhile, was considering the mountain of a man in front of her with the clinical detachment of her Talon ways. She knew he had been one of the German Crusaders in the prime of his youth. She remembered he was a gentleman, always polite when Ana Amari had invited him to the Swiss base. She knew his determination and stamina was notable, even in old age, and that he should not be engaged in combat unless unavoidable. She remembered his booming laugh and love of quality lager.

He was a legend in the flesh, brash and honourable and tempered by age. She considered what she knew and what she remembered, and did not blink under his scrutiny.

“Do you have something to say?” Widowmaker ventured, after a hundred and thirty seconds of silence.

Reinhardt closed his eyes, sifting through the mountain of words on his tongue. “No,” he finally said. “There is nothing I can say to you that has not already been said before.”

Widowmaker watched him, and said nothing.

“Given the circumstances,” Reinhardt offered, considering his phrasing with care, “Are you finding your accomodation comfortable?”

Widowmaker laughed _._ “What do _you_ think?”

Reinhardt pursed his lips. He pushed on his knees, and rose to his feet. “For what it's worth,” he rumbled, looking down at the sniper, “Knowing you, long ago, was an honour.”

Widowmaker said nothing, and watched him until he had left.

Reinhardt let his steps lead him through the familiar halls of the Watchpoint. Deep in thought, he found himself at the Lindholms’ workshop. He opened the door and stood in the frame, head bowed.

Torbjörn, sitting on an old couch with a chicken and avocado sandwich in hand, looked away from the console game Brigitte was playing. “Ah, Reinhardt,” he said, gesturing with his sandwich. “Come and join us! We’re taking a break.”

Reinhardt huffed. “It is always good to be eating. Brigitte! What are you playing?”

“Maaaaario!” she called back. “Hana gifted it to me. She got it off a collector. It's vintage!”

“Hah!” Reinhardt said. “Vintage! You _are_ young.”

“And you're old!” Brigitte teased.

Reinhardt put a hand on his chest. “When I was young, I had a near-encyclopaedic knowledge of the Mario franchise,” he intoned. “But I am too old to remember it all. The mantle of collecting vintage video games must pass to you, my squire.”

“Yes sir,” Brigitte laughed, and focussed on a tricky manoeuvre.

Reinhardt lowered himself into a worn grey armchair next to Torbjörn’s couch. “We must talk,” he muttered to his old friend.

“Did you visit her?” Torbjörn asked, equally quiet.

“I did.”

“Did she say anything?”

Reinhardt shook his head. “I could not think of anything to ask her. It felt like disrespect.”

“Disrespecting a dead woman?”

“Her _memory._ The woman in that cell deserves that courtesy.”

Torbjörn made an incredulous noise. “She is a killing machine. I can't think of her like that.”

“But the Bastion you adopted is allowed humanity?”

“That omnic--!” he started, but glanced at Brigitte, and lowered his voice. “That omnic showed a personality. It had been wandering for years. It helps Brigitte do gardening. The _sniper_ is fresh out of Talon’s chop shop, not a half-broken robot with a bird companion.”

“But suppose Lacroix were given the opportunity…?” Reinhardt ventured.

“You told me yourself we can't treat her the same way we used to. Why change your mind now?” Torbjörn asked gruffly.

“Seeing her in person, disarmed and captive, is very different to discussing evasion strategy in a meeting room. I could not do it.”

Torbjörn grunted, and watched Brigitte’s game for a few moments. Reinhardt leaned over and kissed the top of his head.

“Ah, you love too easily,” Torbjörn grumbled. “You’re such a bleeding heart.”

Reinhardt barked in laughter. “You say that as if it is a bad thing!”

“You were as legendary as a knight on the dancefloor,” Torbjörn said, fingers linked over his belly. “All the ladies loved you.”

Reinhardt winked. “In bed, too. Ana always said that-”

“I _don't_ want to hear what our commander thought of your skill in bed!” Torbjörn exclaimed, waving him away in disgust. “Keep _that_ one to yourself.”

Reinhardt chuckled, putting his arm over the back of the couch. “Ah, my friend,” he said, smiling fondly, “I am only reminiscing on times gone by.”

“As we all are, Reinhardt,” Torbjörn muttered, as his daughter won a boss fight and whooped, oblivious to their conversation. “As we all are.”

 

Nine days in, Angela and Mei were deep in discussion in their shared office.

“It _is_ a crime against ethics!” Angela insisted, gesturing at the scan of the tracking device she was holding. “I'm surprised her ability to move her neck isn't impaired by this... thing!”

“Would we be able to show her what it looks like?” Mei asked, poring over similar images at her desk next to Angela. Her blue weather drone Snowball was charging in his rack. “If we offer her answers or removal…”

“Maybe,” Angela said. “Each of these small barbs… look like they grew around the cable. As if it _encouraged_ sharp growths of bone.” She scowled.

Mei made a face. “I am a little squeamish, Angela,” she admitted.

“I understand,” Angela said, and lay the damning slides on her desk. “I _may_ be able to remove the tracker, but not with the few resources I have on hand, and certainly not without extensive help.” She rested her head on the back of her chair.

Mei picked at the edges of a report she’d printed about air carbon levels. “You could always contact Dr Ngcobo.”

Angela hummed at the mention of her old colleague who worked with Médecins Sans Frontières. “I would have to go over intensive non-disclosure agreements with him, but his team are incredibly proficient. I always appreciated his skill and wisdom. What I can do, in the meantime,” she said, picking up a sheaf of paperwork, “is continue working with these chemists. Their first results are promising. With luck we may be able to synthesise some, if not all, of what Talon has used on her. I’ve sent them a sample of the neurotoxin gas that was in one of her mines.”

“How do you know these… anonymous chemists?” Mei asked.

“I wasn't always quite so prim and proper, Mei. I've made plenty of contacts over the years,” Angela said, with a small and knowing smile.

“I see,” Mei said. She chewed her lip. There were so many important things she’d missed in her involuntary nine-year hibernation, and she unconsciously traced the edge of Snowball’s metal housing as he rested. “I’ve… heard that Gérard was killed by his own wife. I know that's Widowmaker. But I don't know much more than that. Could you tell me why everyone’s so stressed? If it's okay?”

Angela considered that. “Gérard led operations against Talon. Talon made repeated attempts to kill him, but all failed. Then they tried an _alternative method,_ and, well.” She grimaced. “You know the rest.”

They fell uncomfortably silent.

“She slipped through the cracks,” Angela murmured, picking at the corner of the X-rays. “It was so many tiny mistakes. We may not have been searching in the right places. She reported she'd only been held hostage. The results I gleaned from studying her condition indicated PTSD, dehydration, and malnourishment. Gérard wanted to see her. And I… My team wanted to keep her for a few more days, but she was cleared to leave, they wanted her out of the base.” The weary doctor took her glasses off, massaging her temples with finger and thumb. “I’m not here because I want to be here,” she admitted. “I never truly agreed with the attitude Overwatch took towards their operations. I’m here because I don't want my old friends to fall to pieces… again. If I don't keep an eye on them, who will?”

Mei put a hand on Angela’s knee. “You’re very dedicated to making sure people are safe. Especially the people close to you. But you really need to stop blaming yourself for events you couldn't control.” she paused, thinking about her time in Antarctica. “Sometimes… bad things happen, even if we do the right thing. I looked out for my team, and we went into cryostasis together, but it wasn’t my fault that I was the only one to wake up.” She squeezed Angela’s knee in reassurance. “I may have missed a lot, but I want to catch up with the world. Overwatch was a part of that world.”

Angela put her hand over Mei’s and smiled fondly as she sat back in her chair. “You're very kind, Mei. But I have a choice this time. And through every avenue available to me, I’m _not_ letting Amélie down again.”

 

Widowmaker awoke on the thirteenth night, when the base was silent and the lights were out.

She was overdue for reconditioning. She could feel it in the slight dryness of her eyes and tongue, and the urge to fidget.

Insomnia and restlessness were the first warning signs. Thirst, a heightened startle response, and a prickling numbness in her fingers would follow. Then irritability, fever, and fear sweats, and within a couple of days the full slew of withdrawal symptoms from Talon’s chemical cocktail would hit.

She could handle it this time. She could survive. She'd almost done it once before, under different circumstances.

Widowmaker stared at the ceiling and steeled herself for the waiting game.


	6. Queen Capture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rivalry between Widowmaker and Tracer has mellowed, but Widowmaker is refusing Angela’s treatment, and Talon aren’t letting go of their prized agent that easily…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
>   
> 

Fifteen days into Widowmaker’s capture, it was as if the base had taken a collective sigh. People apologised for slights given in the past fortnight, and the air was lighter. Two weeks had come and gone, and no disasters had happened.

Lena was hanging out with Winston in his lab, draped over his back with her head poking over his shoulder. She finished a little braid in his hair, and secured it with a rubber band, patting it down with the other seven she’d already done.

“Enjoying yourself?” the scientist asked, feeling the gentle pressure of her hand.

“Yeah. You’re all pretty now,” Lena said.

Winston huffed in mirth. “I’m glad I have you to make sure I’m looking my best.”

“Me too,” Lena said fondly. She peeked at the metal pieces of her chronal accelerator he held in his hands. “How’s it coming along?”

He secured new, slimmer pieces of white housing into place on its body. “Because it’s the same alloy as Brigitte’s armour, it should be much lighter to wear, but with greater shock absorption. She’s really quite clever! She was kind enough to lend me some scraps in the right shapes, and I started to tinker.”

“Gimme gimme,” Lena said, sitting up on Winston’s back so he could hand her the accelerator harness. She buckled the device into place and _ooh_ ed. “It _feels_ much lighter,” she said. “I like it! My back’s gonna be thankin’ you in a couple of days.”

“She’s also offered to help me improve the design itself, too. And her father offered his expertise in case we ever need a major overhaul.”

“Thanks, big guy. I could kiss her. Remind me to do that.”

Winston chuckled. “I will.” He started returning tools to his toolbox. “Lena, erm… You’ve been asking me to check the chronal accelerator more frequently as of late. Is everything alright?”

Lena made a funny noise. “I mean yeah, but… Oi! No peanut butter!”

Winston withdrew his wandering hand from the jar at the edge of the work bench. “Sorry! I’m done working now, so I can get my fingers dirty.”

“Stinky scientist!” Lena teased. “Isn’t Athena listening in on you?”

“She’s taking a regularly scheduled nap and system optimisation process,” Winston said of the powerful AI that inhabited the walls of the base. “I won’t eat the peanut butter if you tell me truthfully how you’re doing, how about that?”

Lena made an aggrieved groan. “Now I’ll _have_ to tell you.”

Winston looked back at her and winked. “I know when you're trying to avoid questions.”

Lena stuck her tongue out. “Fine. I just...” she struggled with her words. “I’m still… worried… about gradually slipping in and out of time. It’s illogical but I still fear it.”

“I think that’s a perfectly logical fear, Lena,” Winston said.

“I know,” she sighed. “I saw so many different times and places and people in the slipstream. Some of ‘em were sort of similar to the way things are going but some of them were so, so different. And, versions of me! And versions of you, and I think I even recognised Emmie once, and there were other people I didn’t know and people I did, and…” She shook her head to derail the train. “I saw infinite possibilities all at once, I was drownin’ in them. Sometimes I could follow ones about us if I thought hard enough. Felt like I was gettin’ lost though. Felt like I could, I don’t know,” she said, making a reaching and grabbing motion. “Get stuck in some of ‘em, if I wasn’t careful. What if I’d got stuck in a different time forever? What’d that mean for me? Who’d I become?”

Winston nodded sagely. “So, you don’t want to become someone else?”

Lena thought, then shook her head. “Not exactly. That’d mean going somewhere different from _here._ Imagine if things were different, leading up to our conceptualisation of ‘here’, and then they could become any kind of different later on. I’d be a different person. Imagine if, if, like,” she licked her lips, “if all the decisions we make influence the future, even the tiny ones, but that’s happening with everyone everywhere all at once, in every possible universe. I think that’s the only way I could think about it without going insane. There was a point where I started to wonder if any of it mattered or if it was even real.” She leaned her chin on Winston’s shoulder.

“That sounds really complicated,” Winston said. “I don’t think you’ve ever told me that before.”

Lena wrinkled her nose. “I love you, big guy, but your breath stinks like peanut butter.”

“Er, sorry,” Winston apologised, coughing into his hand, and averted his head to pick up his toolbox. “Go on?”

“I haven’t told you in those exact words,” Lena said, as Winston began to lumber through the lab, putting away tools. “S’just weird. I’m just trying to make sense of it. Feels like a… a scar. A chronal scar. An’ I keep wondering about how I’d be different.”

Winston put the last box in its usual storage spot. “Did… I mean… Is, erm…”

“Yeah, things have been getting a little crazy since I caught a big spider,” she laughed, reaching up and pretending to bat at his truck tire swing. “I’m just gettin’ anxiety over potential futures again.”

“Focus on the good ones, Lena. Let’s bring that positive energy into the world.”

Lena laughed. “Of course!”

Winston smiled. “Okay, now, tell me about Hana and Lúcio. I haven’t been able to talk to them in far too long.”

Lena grinned. She loved that he knew when to change the topic. “Hana can make her way over to Gibraltar in a few days. Brigitte is dying to meet her again.”

“I’m glad they’re happy together. And Lúcio?”

“Frogman wants Brigitte to finish some upgrades for his battle tech when his tour ends. Shouldn’t be too long now, either. I can’t wait for everyone to be together again,” Lena sighed. “I saw Fareeha and Genji playing darts in the common room, too.” She’d heard Genji say he was leaving for Nepal soon, but she didn’t mean to eavesdrop. She knew he wasn’t happy here. It was better to let him say it in his own time.

A friendly chime sounded over the PA system as Athena came back online. One of the displays next to Winston lit up blue. “I’m awake,” the AI said through her small display. “Good afternoon, Lena!”

“Hi Athena!” Lena said.

“Hello again,” Winston said. “Did you have a nice nap?”

“I did,” Athena replied, “But I wanted to warn you: Angela Ziegler is about to enter the-”

Angela burst into the lab with a joyous cry. “I’ve done it! I’ve done it!!” she exclaimed, waving a stack of paper.

“Whoa! Angela, what’s wrong?” Winston asked, startled by the doctor’s sudden entrance.

Angela took a moment to catch her breath and waved the papers again for emphasis. “Mei and I have successfully figured out the chemical aspects used in Widowmaker’s reconditioning. We’re going to mock up a first batch tonight! I wanted to tell you first, Lena,” she explained, but she was cut off from further exposition when Lena blinked to the floor and swept her into a crushing hug.

“You did it!!!” Lena squealed. “Oh I’m so happy oh oh oh,” she released Angela and bounced from foot to foot, “What now? What happens next?”

“It’ll be a few weeks before a colleague of mine will be able to assist with the critical surgery,” Angela explained. “He’s operating in Oceania at the moment. But it’s progress! Now that we’ve identified the most crucial elements of the process, it will be so much easier to adapt as necessary to her needs. I can’t wait to be able to _help_ her.”

“Oh, Angie, that’s fantastic,” Lena said, hugging her again. “C’mon! Let’s go tell Widow! She’ll want to hear this!”

“I will, but… later,” Angela said. “I have to keep working on the project with Mei for a little bit longer. Why don’t you go tell her, and I’ll catch up when I can?”

“Aww, but… you always say you’re busy,” Lena said.

Angela put her hand on Lena’s shoulder. “It’s... difficult... for me,” she said. “I’ll visit her when I can. I promise. Please… Please tell her that the choice is up to her, this time. We want her to be safe.”

Lena was sad, but she nodded in understanding. “Alright, doc. I’ll go tell her the good news. Winston? Athena?”

“We will be fine without you,” The AI said serenely, with just a hint of good humour. “We aren’t going to suffer if you leave for a while.”

Lena laughed. “Alright! See you soon Winston!”

“See you soon,” Winston said, waving as Lena left.

 

Jack Morrison was stalking out of the cell blocks, arms swinging and brow furrowed, when Lena approached from the other direction. “Hey,” he said, stopping Lena as she tried to slip past him. “Can we talk?”

Lena really didn’t want to talk to Jack right now, but she stopped. “Yeah, sure.”

Jack eyed her. “You look happier than usual. Which is saying something. What’s with the mood?”

Lena grinned. “Mei and Angela are doing test runs of Widow’s blood chemistry! They’ve figured it out, so I’m gonna give Widow the good news.”

Jack nodded in surprise. “That’s good. I’m glad to hear it.”

“You don’t… seem that excited about it.”

Jack shrugged. “It is what it is. They’re good people. I’m just worried your attachment to Widowmaker is impacting your ability to do your job.”

Lena’s good mood ground to a screeching halt. “What?” she said weakly.

“Your attachment to your enemy is going to drag you down,” Jack said, crossing his arms. “It’s only going to hurt you in the long run.”

“Wh- Can't you extend a hand?!” Lena exclaimed. “We’ve wanted to get her back safe for _years,_ and now we have this opportunity, and we’re treating her like she still poses a threat! She deserves to know about her own blood chemistry!”

“Lena, she _is_ a criminal.”

“So are we!” Lena said, angry that he’d stopped her for _this._ She had _good news._ “We’re all supposed to be ghosts! If anyone finds out the recall happened, that any of us are even _here in this base,_ we’re all toast! Jesse’s the only one of us with any sense, accepting the recall and working far away!”

Jack bristled at the mention of estranged Blackwatch agent Jesse McCree, cowboy on the run. It’d taken a lot of needling to make him accept the recall, and Jack was still upset about it. “We _made_ this choice, Lena,” he growled. “Everyone in this base knew exactly what they were getting into when they decided to come back. We are making this choice to fight for the greater good.”

“Amélie didn’t have a choice in fighting for the greater worse,” Lena said.

“Why do you care who she used to be when we know how she acts now?”

“Because she’s one of our own!” Lena exclaimed, her mounting frustrations from the past two weeks breaking out of the box she’d put them in to appease the old captain. She started counting on her fingers. “We know how her rifle works. Angela’s helped me ask how her reconditioning works. We know how they keep her in check between missions. She’s given us links between Talon and Vishkar, and a bunch of other stuff we’ve anonymously passed on to people who _can_ deal with them. She’s _working with us,”_ Lena insisted. “Which is a fat lot of courtesy, considering half the base doesn't seem to give a rat’s ass about her!! I'm talking to her like a person because _nobody else_ wants to stick their neck out and treat her like one of us!”

“Lena…” Jack growled. “She's refusing to cooperate with me-”

“Oh, I _wonder_ why!!”

“I don't want to fight you too!” Jack snapped. “I'm doing everything I can. _Please_ get a hold of yourself.”

Lena could have screamed aloud. _No you aren't! You made sure_ **_both_ ** _me and Amélie weren’t saved as fast as we could’ve been!!_

Jack kept talking. “I love _every single person_ on this base. I've been forced to adapt over the years because the outside world tried to tear us apart. If I’m the father of this family then I'll look after you in the way I see fit.”

“God, I - You're _not_ my dad, and I’m tired of pretending along with something that's not true!” The hot words jumped off Lena’s tongue faster than she could stop them, but she found she didn’t care. “It feels like somewhere along the line, you forgot we’re supposed to be working and not dreaming. You’re clingin’ to the glory days. It's not _cute_ any more!”

Jack was lost for words. “I will _not_ be made the enemy here.”

Lena shook her head. “You’re not my enemy. I’m just done pretending we’re closer than we are. Now, I’m gonna see Widowmaker,” she said, stepping around him, “‘Cause Angie’s figured out how to regulate her reconditioning, and _Amélie Lacroix_ deserves control over her own life.”

When the door to the cell blocks slid shut, Jack left, refusing to look back.

 

“Oh, luv,” Lena said in sympathy, as she took her usual place on her side of the barrier. “You don't look so good.”

Widowmaker sat a metre away, stony faced and quiet. She pressed her hands between her knees to still the ceaseless tremor that had started in her body overnight. It didn't help much. “I… don't feel so good.”

“I have really good news,” Lena said. She touched a knuckle to the barrier. “Angie’s just about figured out Talon’s chemistry. She's got the notes on standby an’ she’s practicin’ with Mei to see if it works. She's desperate to make you stable but I insisted it’s gotta be up to you.” She moved her knuckle against the field, watching the bright yellow spot where she made contact. “I wanted to tell you so you had that choice. Once you’ve got this, your future’ll be in _your_ hands.”

 _I want it!_ Widowmaker wanted to scream, and grab the solution with both hands. But she couldn't, because she couldn't _risk_ being used by Overwatch. She trusted Lena, but her fear reared its ugly head without stabilisers to keep it in check.

She inhaled. “I don’t want the doctor’s cure.”

Lena frowned. “Amélie…?”

 _“Don’t_ call me that. Why doesn’t she come see me herself?” Widowmaker snapped. “Why hasn't the doctor come to visit the _patient_ herself?”

Lena backed up. “I-I don't know, she said she’d be down later, maybe she's hurtin’-”

“Stop making excuses for them, Lena,” Widowmaker spat. “If they're being so _courteous,_ and the good doctor wants to feel _sad_ about experimenting on me, and she wants to find me a _cure,_ she can at least have the grace to visit me outside mealtimes, where the only things she says are empty pleasantries and a stranger’s conversation with that damned _clinical detachment.”_

Lena, unused to such an outburst, stared.

Widowmaker averted her eyes. “Don't repeat that. I need repairs. It's a glitch. I won't say it again.”

Lena pressed the palm of her hand to the barrier. “No, luv, it's okay-”

“It's _not_ okay, and do _not_ try to be soft with me.”

Lena didn’t know how to react. “Did… did Jack ask you anything? Something bad?”

“Yes. He is stupid and petty and old.”

 _Oh no,_ Lena thought. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” the sniper said.

“Should I… leave you alone for a bit?”

_No!_

“Yes.”

Lena was crestfallen, but she heeded the request and stood up. “Alright, love. I'll be back later, if you'll have me. Just remember that Angie’s offer is still on the table.”

Widowmaker refused to watch her leave, and turned away with her eyes scrunched tight. She felt the stutter of her heart as it reacted to emotions she could no longer keep in check. _Volatile. Unpredictable._ She was desperate for the uncertainty to end.

She would get her answer.

A horrible screech came from the next cell over as someone cut through the outer wall, and Lena backpedalled, yelling in alarm, to escape the flying circle of concrete that almost crushed her.

Widowmaker jumped back. “Lena? What’s going on?”

Lena dropped her fists from their defensive positioning near her face. “I don’t know, I…”

The Talon agent who’d caused the damage had landed in the hallway, one arm outstretched, and was holding a bright purple hard light sword in the air.

"Batman?" Lena blurted in shock.

The intruder laughed as she rose to her full height, on boots that ended in three sharp metal claws. The boot’s heels had curved springs to keep her on her toes. A veil, patterned with the long triangle of a corvid’s beak, obscured the lower half of her face, and over it was a sleek helmet that had angled spikes over the ears, tilted backwards. Pressing a button on the sword’s handle, the hard light blade dissipated, allowing her to attach it to a clip on the inside of one of her gauntlets. Lena could see an identical device attached to the opposite wrist.

"I have to say, I haven't heard _that_ one before," the intruder said in a smooth and measured voice, drawing her arms to her waist. The long cape she wore looked almost like wings, drawn behind her back. “It's usually, ‘ahh, please don't kill me!’”

Thin purple stripes snaked along her spiked outfit like veins. Something about the way she was leaning towards her, neck craning forwards, made the lizard brain in Lena want to scream bloody murder and _run._

"Blackrook," Widowmaker whispered, keeping a death grip on the edge of the bed.

Blackrook heard her speak. "Oh, hello Lacroix, you're in there, are you?" she said warmly, peering around the side of the cell wall, and she tutted. "Oh you poor thing, look at you. You look _awful._ Did they do this to you? Come back home, dear, we miss you so much. I've missed you _terribly.”_

"Amélie, who is this," Lena asked, eyes darting back and forth. She itched for the grip of her pulse pistols that were three buildings away, and sized up how quickly she could lunge for the intruder alarm. Blackrook was too calm and too self-assured. It _creeped her out._

“Lena, _run,”_ Widowmaker insisted.

"We're on a first name basis, are we?” Blackrook said, looking at Lena with curiosity. “I'd share too, but unfortunately I can't do that, please excuse my manners. I'm her retrieval team. Just me. Mhmhm, well, there _are_ others, but I'm considered something of a last resort. For when they fail, and our _beloved_ spider as been missing for far, far too long." Blackrook raked her eyes up and down Widowmaker’s shaking, pallid form. “She's due for reconditioning. She’ll die without it. I'm here to protect her from that terrible fate.”

“You're the ones who did that to her in the first place!” Lena yelped. “We’re gonna save her!”

“As if _I_ would be responsible for that treatment. Do you have a better idea?” Blackrook accused, staring Lena down with eyes flecked purple. “You'd let her waste away in a _cell?_ Would you use her for your own ends? _That_ is your idea of love and care? How terribly about-face.”

“That's not what we’re doing!” Lena cried.

“Are you _sure?_ It's a very convenient excuse,” Blackrook pressed.

“I,” Lena started, but her train of thought had been derailed by the mind games. She finally knew where Widowmaker had picked up her fears. "I'm gettin' Angela," she warned the sniper, and shifted her weight on the balls of her feet so she could spring, blinking down the hall.

Blackrook reacted immediately, charging forward and overtaking Lena in a blur of black and purple. She grabbed her by the jacket, stopping her dead in her tracks, and pushed Lena back down the hallway, slamming the smaller woman next to the door control unit of Amelie’s cell.

Blackrook scowled as Lena wheezed. “I’m sorry, child, but I _can’t_ let you do that. You’ve seen me now, I can’t let you _leave."_

“Yeah I can,” Lena gasped, and recalled. She winked into existence behind Blackrook.

Blackrook whipped around, angry that the smaller woman had evaded her. She lunged forwards as Lena ran for the intruder alarm, and grabbed Lena around the waist.

Lena missed the alarm on her way to the floor. She elbowed Blackrook in the face and made to blink again. Blackrook anticipated the move and planted her feet, leaping forward and grabbing Lena as she came out of the blink. She whipped around and bodily threw Lena to the end of the hall.

Lena rolled as she landed. Blackrook was on her again faster than she could react, pinning her to the floor. The Talon agent was _way_ stronger than she looked.

Blackrook laughed, a little unhinged. “Does she always have this attitude, Lacroix? I _actually_ understand why you’ve had so much trouble with her now.”

“Lena!” Widowmaker shouted, unable to intervene.

“Get off me!” Lena yelled. Blackrook punched her silent and jabbed a clawed glove under her ribs to activate her biotic leech.

Lena choked. The horrible draining sensation at the pit of her stomach was something she'd felt at the hands of one Talon agent before in the field, and she’d prayed she’d never feel it again.

This was _Moira’s_ technology.

Blackrook’s smile only widened as she drew the strength from Lena’s body to fuel her own.

Lena, sapped to the bone, didn’t move when Blackrook released her. A weak groan filtered out between her lips.

“Right,” Blackrook sighed. She stood up quite leisurely. The stripes along her bodysuit glowed bright purple with stored energy, ready to be expended. She flicked on her swords. Fresh energy filtered along the length of the blades, giving them a bright aura. Blackrook raised her sharp wings and sliced through the cell control unit like a hot knife through butter. The yellow barrier dissipated, but no sirens activated.

“Get up, dear,” she told Widowmaker, returning her swords to their holsters. She stood in front of the sniper, illuminated from behind by the bright hallway light. Her eyes were steely. “I know this wasn't _your_ fault,” she said in an undertone, “but don't make it hard for me the way you did last time.”

Silently, having accepted the inevitable, Widowmaker stood.

Blackrook kissed her forehead. “There's a good girl. Come on, now, we don't have much time. Could you turn this on for me?” she asked, handing the sniper a silver translocator.

“Isn't this Sombra’s technology?” Widowmaker asked, brow furrowed.

“Yes,” Blackrook said dismissively, procuring a strong tranquilizer. “Who do you _think_ is making sure there aren't horrific alarms alerting the rest of the base that I’m here?”

Widowmaker set her lips in a grim line but said nothing, prepping the translocator and standing next to it as she was trained to do. If Sombra was helping Blackrook, then...

Blackrook grabbed Lena by the lapels and lifted her up in the air. “Oh, how fascinating,” she murmured. “Lena, wasn't it? With hair like that, you _must_ be Lena Oxton. _Tracer,”_ she said derisively. “The one who's been giving our Lacroix so much trouble.”

If looks could kill, the glare Lena was giving Blackrook would have vaporised her on the spot.

Blackrook smiled at the show of defiance. “You stole her from us, and I _could_ kill you for that. But I think your skills could have other uses… Once that awful attitude’s gone. Welcome to Talon,” she said, and pressed the tranquilizer into Lena’s neck. She watched her eyes slide shut. “You're going to have _so_ much fun.”

Widowmaker ignored Blackrook as she slung the unconscious Lena over one shoulder, stepped over, and gripped the nape of her neck.

“Let’s go, dear,” Blackrook muttered.

Widowmaker obediently activated the translocator with her foot. The world warped, and in a flash of light they were inside a Talon jump jet.

“I have extra cargo,” Blackrook announced, speedily clipping the unconscious Lena into a crash chair.

 _“What?”_ Reaper barked, turning around in the pilot’s seat.

Blackrook secured herself before pulling off her helmet and a black cowl. Her hazel eyes were freshly streaked with violet from her biotic vampirism, and a cruel smile played across her thin lips. “They took something of ours, so I took something of theirs,” she explained, gesturing at Lena. “Now we’re even.”

Reaper eyed the unconscious Lena, and Widowmaker silently securing herself, and said nothing.

“Isn't that good?” Blackrook asked, sharp eyes on Reaper, running a hand through her silver hair.

“The mission is complete. Explain your actions at debrief,” Reaper dismissed, focussing on the sky.

 _Interesting,_ Blackrook thought, as Widowmaker called clear and Reaper gunned the craft’s engine, racing unhindered into the night. _Very interesting._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus ends the first and shortest arc! You may scream now.
> 
> Tags have been updated to reflect the incoming long arc. Please remember that I write about **hope, recovery, and triumph over abuse** , because this story will touch on heavy topics before it gets light.


	7. Shadowplay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blackrook and Viper sneak into Moira’s lab to catch up with her after the retrieval agent returns to the Talon base, and the three discuss their shared past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
>   
> 

Blackrook tucked her helmet under one arm and hopped off the ramp as soon as they touched down. “I can take this new acquisition to Moira to save time, if you’d like,” she offered Reaper.

“Akande needs to hear about this _acquisition_ first,” Reaper said, walking down the gangway after her. “Get someone to take Oxton to a holding cell til Moira’s ready for her. I don’t want her waking up and making a scene.”

Blackrook laughed softly. “So proper,” she said.

“She will fight if given the chance,” Reaper warned.

“Oh, I know,” Blackrook said. “She gave me quite a workout before I could subdue her. I wasn’t expecting so much resistance. But I do need to do something before coming to debrief. Catch up in a minute?”

“Be quick,” Reaper grumbled. The more Reaper had observed Blackrook as months went on, the more Viper’s information had proved itself trustworthy. She was _very_ good at covering her tracks. Moira, even more so. But there were always clues, if you were suspicious enough. And Reaper had gained _plenty_ from his newest ally.

When the assassin had left, he touched a hand to his comm. “Viper. Do you copy?”

There was a pause. _“Yes,”_ came the reply.

“You’re needed in Moira’s lab,” Reaper muttered.

 _“Right away,”_ Viper told his superior officer, and cut the connection.

With a swish of his cloak, Reaper stalked off to the meeting with Akande.

 

Blackrook let herself into Moira’s lab with a special keycard. “I’m here to get my biotics checked,” she announced.

“I’ll be with you in a moment,” Moira said, rising from a microscope. Her work table was covered in a neat array of equipment and tools. Her three assistants took a moment to finish what they were doing and wordlessly left. Moira had instructed them to do so when Blackrook needed to speak with her. It wouldn’t do to have them getting in the way.

The second the last staff member had left for good, Blackrook devolved into giggles. “Mmh, oh, Moira, I’ve done so well today,” she said in a sing-song voice, and deposited her gear in a personal crate.

Moira smiled. “What has my terrifying corvid done to warrant such a good mood?”

Blackrook smirked. “I caught Lena Oxton.”

Moira’s jaw dropped. “You did _not.”_

“I did!” Blackrook crowed. “She was _visiting_ our poor little spider, could you believe it? After she’d caused so much trouble for her?” she laughed, coming to a stop right in front of the geneticist. “I couldn’t believe how _easy_ it was to collect the tiny dear.”

“Deirdre Sansoni, you never cease to amaze me with your good moods and sudden antics,” Moira breathed.

Without warning, Blackrook pulled Moira into a waltz, arm about her waist, hand held high, and swayed with her in a little circle. “Tell me how we met,” Blackrook demanded. “I want to hear it again.”

Moira was caught off guard. “I'm busy, Deirdre, and you need to go to debrief. Don't pout at me, you’ve heard it so many times I swear you could recite a script of it back to me.”

“I’m on the high of crime, dear, give me the abridged version,” Blackrook whispered, sweeping Moira off her feet and into a dip. “Please? For me?”

Moira was a little disoriented by the spin, and took a second to catch her breath. “If you... must insist,” she said, acquiescing. “It was a masquerade ball in Venice, almost eleven years ago...”

“Go on,” Blackrook goaded.

“And _someone_ was on a mission for Vishkar,” she said, poking Blackrook’s nose. _“Information gathering,_ you told me, though we both know that was almost _certainly_ a lie.”

“Oh, there was so much opportunity at Talon, even then…”

“And I was three months shy of joining Talon proper, but with so many options at both Talon and Blackwatch who could blame me for being a little indecisive?” Moira said, feigning weakness, and putting a hand to her forehead. _“So_ many possibilities.”

“And only one place for you,” Blackrook murmured, pulling Moira almost upright and closer into her arms. “Right here.”

“Do you want the story or do you want to kiss me, Deirdre?” Moira asked bluntly.

“Both,” Blackrook said, pecking her on the lips.

Moira sighed. “Right. Where was I? I met an _adrenaline junkie_ at the ballroom dance.”

“You wound me, Moira,” Blackrook said, feigning insult. “And my mask?”

“A horrific owl. With those awful gaudy sequins and plastic diamonds around the eye sockets.”

Blackrook snorted. “I was _undercover,_ Moira, do you really think I’d settled on rooks by then? No. Birds were not on my mind that night.”

“Yes, and I - no puns about me?”

“I could make one yet, dear.”

“You had a mask and I was there because I like masquerade balls and your brother was off doing whatever it is he was doing,” Moira said, rolling her eyes and gesturing.

“Causing disruptions at a different party,” Blackrook said. “Killing people, probably.”

“Mm, yes, he’s very good at that. But you came up to me, and you looked at me, and you asked...” Moira said, pausing.

“May I have this dance?” Deirdre said, preening. “A bird like you shouldn’t be dancing alone.”

“Oh, _now_ you start making puns,” Moira groaned. _“Please_ spare me my sanity.”

“You didn’t say that,” Deirdre corrected her, hellbent on continuing the story. “You said, ‘Oh my, _hello_ there. What kind stranger graces my presence?’”

“As you do, putting airs at a masquerade.”

“As you do.”

“And then something irrelevant happened,” Moira said, with her arms about Deirdre’s neck. “I can’t remember, and I don’t care.”

“We talked for a while, and decided to find somewhere quiet to discuss work,” Deirdre murmured, a breath from Moira’s lips, “but it wasn’t that important.”

“It wasn’t,” Moira managed to get out, before Blackrook kissed her fiercely, pulling the doctor tight against her. Moira gasped when they finally broke for air. “God, Deirdre, at this rate you’ll swallow me,” she laughed.

“Maybe that’s what I want,” Deirdre purred, and Moira almost melted on the spot.

Someone across the room cleared their throat loudly, and the two women looked up.

Viper, letting himself in with his special ID card, eyed them both. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Dominic!” Blackrook exclaimed, jumping up and politely hugging him. “I hope you weren’t grossed out by my torrid displays of affection.”

Viper huffed, clicking his helmet into the open position so she could properly see his bemused expression. He put a hand on his hip. “You two are horrifically physical when we have to get check ups. I’ve kinda had to get used to it.”

“If you’re used to it, why complain?” Blackrook teased, taking a position behind Moira and looping her arms around her waist. “What brings you here?”

Viper eyed them both. “I don’t enjoy seeing my sister _sucking face._ There really isn’t another word for it, come on,” he said, when Blackrook pouted. “You two are insatiable, and it’s impossible to tear you apart. I’ve _tried._ And I’m here for the pain,” he lied, “it’s getting unbearable. Much like your inability to give Moira some damn space.”

Moira politely unhooked her lover’s arms from her waist. “Let’s be polite for Dominic, dear,” she said, patting Blackrook’s cheek. “Deirdre asked me about the masquerade ball again, you know,” she told Viper.

Viper laughed, pulling off his cat-clawed gloves. “Please tell me it was the Vialli one and not the one where you-”

“Where we first met, yes,” Deirdre finished his sentence for him, and combed her fingers through Moira’s hair. “Are we ready to start?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Dominic said, removing his jacket and pulling off the long sleeved thermal shirt underneath. A series of matte black panels covered the skin of his back, decorated with more vein-like green stripes. He ran a hand over his shaved head. “Pain wasn’t too bad for a while, but it’s come back with a vengeance. Whatever you did, I think you’ve found some headway,” he said truthfully.

Moira pored over the implants in his back, interfacing with the hybrid technology she’d helped install long ago. “I’m so glad,” she said. “I should be able to continue easing the pain - are you sure you don’t want me to create a new batch for you?”

Dominic grunted. “No, thank you. I think you’ll have to forgive me for not trusting any more upgrades. The daily grind is enough.”

“Very well,” Moira said. The original nanite batch Dominic was given had combined her biotic healing with technology Vishkar had acquired from a political enemy. The twins had consented to different forms of experimentation, but hard light technology on a nano scale did not mesh well in the human body, and the temporary ability to increase Dominic’s speed and healing caused him incredible pain. Moira frequently offered to repair the damage, but he turned down every offer.

“I’m ready when you are,” Deirdre said as she languidly draped herself over Moira’s workbench.

“Let me finish touching up your brother, you have debrief,” Moira said.

Deirdre grouched. She hated it when someone ruined her fun. She flexed her fingers, eyeing the veins and discolouration on the skin of her hand. “Things have been getting a little crazy since Vialli died,” she said airily.

“Where _have_ you been? They've been crazy for years,” Dominic said. “Remember _Rialto?”_

Moira laughed. “Rialto! What a night. I wish you'd been there.”

Dominic bristled. “I was, and I nearly died,” he growled.

“There, but not _there.”_ Moira squeezed the ex-Enforcer’s shoulder. “As allies, not enemies. I'm sorry.”

“Wasn't your fault. That cowboy had damn good aim.”

“Oh, I _know,”_ Deirdre said, sitting up. “You're lucky I recognised you before I slit your throat, Moira.”

“I pushed you off me and drained you within an inch of your life.”

“You did! It was so fun. I had to ask you for the same upgrades as soon as I could.” At the earliest convenience, the Assassin had asked Moira for a way to increase her own deadliness, and by god the geneticist had delivered. The more life Blackrook drained to fuel her body and gear, the more havoc she could wreak.

“Since Akande came back everyone's been running around like headless chickens,” Deirdre continued. “I only want to find a stable place for myself. I want to lift you up with me when Talon goes down.”

Dominic sat still as Moira took a blood draw. _“When_ Talon goes down? Talon’ll find a way to survive. There's honestly not much that'll get rid of it. Not even Helix Security can pull that many moves that quickly.”

“You can never be sure, so I always stay prepared,” Deirdre murmured.

Doomfist’s voice came through the intercom, shattering their bubble. “Blackrook, report to me at once.”

Blackrook jumped off the bench, back to work. “I’ve overstayed my welcome! I’d better be off before there’s trouble.”

“Don’t die,” Viper joked, the same as he always did.

“I’m unkillable,” Blackrook replied, with a special wink she reserved for her brother, and then she was gone.

Now alone with Moira, Viper relaxed his façade. “I worry about her,” he said wearily.

Moira finished packing up the blood draw kit. “I do too, sometimes. But I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

“We can’t expect everything to work itself out, Moira. One of these days she’s going to go too far.”

Moira draped his jacket over his shoulders and sat next to him. “When has that ever stopped _us_ before? You rose through Vishkar. You worked with Talon. I gave you new power, and together you became a league of your own.”

 _“We_ became a league of our own,” Viper said. He clenched a fist just to see his knuckles go white. “You’ve been my friend for too long to leave you out.”

“Her ambition is going to keep us alive. My job security gives us a platform. Your resourcefulness gives us an edge.”

Viper struggled with his words. “I don't know if you understand. I can see her getting closer to… something. I…” He muttered. “Can I trust you with something? But you must keep it a secret.”

Moira struggled not to look uneasy. “Of course. I trust you, and precious few other people in this base.”

“I'm worried her ambition will kill her, and I'm worried about you… getting dragged into something after her.”

“Dominic, we’ve gone over this,” Moira said tiredly.

“It's not gonna stop me from worrying. Sometimes I wish you could see things from my perspective.”

Moira laughed. “I'm _not_ you! I can't see through your eyes. But thank you for worrying. I know you care.”

“That's not reassuring, you know,” Dominic said flatly.

Moira shrugged. “What can I say? This is an impasse we can't seem to cross.”

 _I wish we could,_ Dominic thought. _I wish I could make you understand the truth._

Doomfist’s voice boomed over the room’s intercom. “Doctor O’Deorain, report to me immediately.”

“From the man himself,” Dominic worried.

“It might be about Oxton,” Moira said absently.

“Oxton?” Viper said in surprise. Wasn't that the Overwatch agent who'd shot him in the knee?

“Rook caught some extra cargo. I'd better go, but I'll explain soon,” Moira said as she finger combed her hair into something presentable. “Right. I'll see you later."

Dominic was deeply worried as he watched Moira leave. “See you later,” he echoed.

Alone with his thoughts, they began to race. Oxton… Lena Oxton? Reaper had told him about her. If Talon ran with his sister’s impulsive act, and they treated the Overwatch agent like an asset and not a prisoner, it would mean Talon may have some ability to stabilise itself…

He had to tell Reaper.

Viper donned his outfit, and sealed his snakelike helmet over his face.

It was time to play the fool once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [sketch bust of blackrook incl. helmet](https://i.imgur.com/is7rJmY.png)  
> [sketch of the twins](https://i.imgur.com/4YJHrTW.png)  
>  (more illustrations [here](https://writingcat1.tumblr.com/post/180632812237).)


	8. Encryptic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doomfist holds debrief with his special ops agents. Later, in secret, Sombra warns Widowmaker that Talon intends to recondition Lena. Widowmaker insists she has a debt to repay - Despite the odds, they can’t let Lena become another victim of Talon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
>   
> 

* * *

 

_The girl awoke with a ragged gasp, sitting up straight in the dark. Shadows stretched into the distance. The ground was flat underfoot; it lacked substance, but felt solid. It was the place she visited in her dreams. A pocket in the stream of spacetime._

_In the shadows, she could see faces, like half-forgotten memories, impressions of people she knew. “Is anyone there?” she called. “Please. I’m afraid.”_

_Silence stretched. They did not answer, and drifted uneasily, unwilling to show themselves. She walked towards them, but they did not appear to get any closer._

_“Please come back,” she begged. “I don’t want to be alone again. I tried. I swear I tried everything to protect Amélie. I didn’t want anything more…”_

_One of the ghosts stepped out of the shadows. She was as wispy as a cirrus cloud and as sheer as a white silk scarf._

_“Are you there?” the girl asked. “Are you real?”_

_“I’m as real as you are,” the ghost said. She spoke barely louder than a whisper._

_“I think I’m trapped,” the girl said._

_“The harpy got you,” the ghost offered. “She swooped in on big black wings and took you away. As soon as you can, find a way to escape.”_

_The girl shook her head. “I’m asleep. I don’t know how to wake up. I was drugged.”_

_“That’s okay. I think I was too. I might’ve been able to escape, once, but that was in another lifetime. Something went wrong, and I got stuck here. This en’t the world of the dead. What’s your name?”_

_“My name’s Lena,” the girl said. “What’s yours? I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before.”_

_The ghost smiled. “My name’s_

 

* * *

 

Reaper closed the soundproof door behind him and stood at attention. Only Akande Ogundimu was present in this meeting room for Talon’s inner circle. Nobody else needed to be. He was dressed in a crisp black suit, and he wore the Doomfist gauntlet. Its enormous polished fist rested on the table beside him. Sometimes he needed to remind his people who they were dealing with.

“You are late,” Doomfist intoned.

“Blackrook said she had personal matters,” Reaper explained in a clipped tone.

“Then I will deal with her in my own time. Where is Sombra?”

The hacker, who had snuck into the room behind Reaper, flickered purple as she decloaked behind the hired gun. “Right here, Akande,” she said, tossing her long mohawk over to the right. The cybernetic implants in her scalp glowed in the dim light.

Doomfist turned his displeasure to her. “What have I told you about cloaking in these rooms?”

Sombra chuckled. “I won't do it again.”

“For your sake, I hope you won't,” Doomfist said.

Sombra knew better than to argue. She held her hands up. “Yes sir.”

“I see you were successful on your mission,” Doomfist said, straight to business. “Widowmaker has been returned to us.”

Reaper inclined his head, keeping it clinical. “She has. Pilot duty was smooth.”

“Good. Sombra?”

“Athena put up a fight,” the hacker said. She flicked her neon purple nails. “They've been upgrading her since Gabe’s last breach. She was a tough cookie to crack.”

“Were you compromised?” Doomfist asked.

“No, sir,” Sombra lied.

“Good. Where is Widowmaker now?”

“I made sure she was led to the medical bay,” Sombra explained. “Her withdrawal symptoms were strong. Then I came straight here.”

Doomfist smiled with the confidence of a businessman. “I am pleased. You've settled well into your place within Talon.”

“Thank you, sir,” Sombra said as meekly as she could, linking her fingers together.

Reaper refused to forget the elephant in in the room. “Blackrook went off script. Again.”

Doomfist arched one eyebrow. “How so?”

“She kidnapped an Overwatch agent.”

Doomfist’s gaze sharpened. He tapped the comm in his ear. “Blackrook. Report to me at once.” He removed the finger. “Who did she catch?”

Eyes shut tight beneath his mask, Reaper answered. “Lena Oxton.”

“Lena Oxton,” Doomfist echoed, rolling the words on his tongue. He leaned back in his chair with a mocking smile. “I remember her very well. How was she subdued?”

“I believe there was a scuffle in the cell blocks.”

“Explain.”

Blackrook chose that second to barge into the meeting room, shutting the door and standing at attention in seconds.

Reaper scowled at the vampiric assassin, but was grateful for the shift in target. “Why don't you ask her yourself?”

“What am I being asked?” Blackrook said, eyes wide as if she didn’t know why the spotlight was on her.

Sombra caught a scowl before it gave her away, and fixed her face so the only visible disdain was in a twist of her lips.

“Lena Oxton,” Doomfist repeated, for Blackrook’s benefit.

Blackrook drew her arms to her waist. “She was visiting Lacroix, I believe. She was going to alert the base to our operations, so I was forced to subdue her.”

“How did you subdue her?”

“A tackle here, a leech there,” Blackrook said, flexing her left hand’s fingers in their glove. “She was very resilient. I finally understood why Lacroix consistently reports so much difficulty taking her down. There _was_ truth to it, after all.”

“And why did you bring her back here?”

“For convenience, for the potential… As revenge,” Blackrook suggested. “She is useful fodder, she is powerful - and without their golden child, Overwatch could fall apart. The thorn in our side will _finally_ roll over and die.”

“Very good,” Doomfist said, and made to change the topic.

“However,” Blackrook added, in a low, conspiratory tone.

Doomfist raised a single eyebrow.

Smug with the sense of victory, Blackrook allowed a smile to stretch her lips. “Lacroix and Oxton were on a first name basis. I thought you might like to know.”

Ice ran through Reaper’s body as Doomfist’s silence stretched. Sombra kept her eyes glued ahead so she wouldn’t look at the horrified man on her left. This would come back to Widow.

“Thank you for telling me,” Doomfist finally told Blackrook, and the three special ops agents remembered how to breathe. “I will be following that up. I am very pleased by your performance today, Sansoni,” Doomfist said. “You have done well, as always. Lead your coworkers by example.”

Blackrook preened in the positive attention. “Thank you, sir.”

“Reaper. Blackrook. You are dismissed,” Doomfist said, and waved them out. “Sombra, stay here.”

Reaper said a silent prayer for Sombra as he left.

When they were alone, Doomfist leaned across the conference table. “Do not think I am unaware of your meddling, Colomar.”

Sombra’s heart skipped a beat. “Meddling?” she said innocently.

“If you interfere with Moira’s plans, I will have your head. You are on thin ice, Sombra. It would be wise to tread lightly.”

Sombra bowed her head. He _could_ be bluffing, but she didn’t dare stress-test it. “Yes sir. I understand.”

Doomfist let the weight of his words stretch the silence before he raised a hand to his comm. “Doctor O’Deorain, report to me immediately.”

Sombra stewed in silence until Moira arrived.

“I was summoned?” Moira offered, smoothing her white lab coat and standing at attention.

“Dr O’Deorain,” Doomfist said. “You expressed interest in starting a new project. Thanks to Blackrook’s actions, you have some new fodder. I have seen Lena Oxton in combat… and I believe that her technological abilities could prove useful, even if her fighting style has been entirely predictable.”

Moira feigned surprise at the mention of Lena, and bowed a little. “The choices of Overwatch and its agents have always been easy to predict.”

Akande continued. “Because Sombra is most familiar with the technology of the chronal accelerator, I want her to assist you in any processes you undertake. Due to Oxton’s... _unique_ condition… I do not want to lose this asset over something preventable.”

“Of course.”

“After your success with the Widowmaker project, I will allow you more leeway. When you have planned what to do with her, report back to me. Sombra?”

“Yes?” the hacker said, hiding her irritation.

“You are to work with O’Deorain.” He leaned on the knuckles of his free hand and addressed them both. “My role in Talon is to ensure its longevity. Your roles are flexible. Your abilities have potential together. Before Talon can proceed with its goals, we need stability. There is only so much that Vishkar can provide. We need to be smart. Do you understand?”

Both women expressed their agreement.

Satisfied, Doomfist rose from the table. “I expect results,” he said with finality. “You are dismissed.”

 

Sombra hid her anxiety as she briskly walked into Reconditioning Suite 2. It was a newer room with better equipment, where Moira and her rats did their dirty work crawling over the unwilling sniper and rebuilding her from the inside out. Widowmaker wasn’t supposed to have been caught that fast. Sombra and Reaper were expecting at _least_ another week before Blackrook found her.

Sombra placed her hands on the reconditioning station as she stood above Widowmaker’s unconscious body. Widowmaker had clearly had one round of reconditioning, and was being given a break before round two. The room was empty, though no doubt Moira would be back soon. That wouldn’t be an issue - she’d been asked to “troubleshoot” Widowmaker before, and the cover was perfect. Her secret backdoor was through Widow’s cranial implant, which monitored and processed brain signals in a similar way to her own cybernetic implants. Through the proxy of technology, under Talon’s very noses, the women could _talk_ to each other.

Connecting to the console, Sombra sank into the river of raw information, filtering it with the delicacy of a weaver, and waited for the illusion of interaction to become clear. The abstract information changed based on a myriad of factors. She usually saw an ultraviolet shadow or a skeletal human body.

Today, that deep purple form was glitching, shaking, and afraid.

“Hey,” she said, testing the waters. She knocked gently on what appeared, to her, as a milky force field - the barrier between bodies they could never cross. “Widow? You there?”

The shadow sloughed away from the human body underneath, and snapped into a humanoid figure on the watery floor of the headspace. Its posture was rigid, it had clawed hands, and its eyes blazed canary yellow. The woman on the floor, with her knees hugged to her chest, wore the same clothes she’d had on the day she killed her husband.

Amélie’s hands fought tremors that would not cease. The Widowmaker’s body dripped poison like sweat. Sombra was in the line of fire.

In half a second Widowmaker was upon her, slamming into the barrier. “What did you _DO?!”_ the sniper howled.

Sombra yelled and backpedalled in the interpretation of space. In the real world, her body violently twitched. “Hey! Hey!! Akande put me up to it! He wanted me and Gabe to come get you back!”

Widowmaker gripped the sides of her head. “After _months_ of guesswork. After we had to rely on _Viper_ for the most difficult escape plan we’ve ever pulled off. You bring us back by working with HER?!” Poison flew like spittle from the corners of her mouth.

“Akande put us up to it! I just told you! The board was getting suspicious because we weren’t concerned about your absence!” Sombra stabilised the connection and brought herself right up to the barrier. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Come here. I’m sorry.”

Widowmaker pressed herself to the gap they could never cross. Her body oozed like slime. “I’m sorry…” she lamented. “I don’t want to be angry at you, I’m sorry, I…”

“No, shh, it’s okay, it’s not your fault,” Sombra said. “He was getting suspicious. He forced us to. Number one priority. You know how he is. If we’re not loyal to Talon, we get squished. I… Gabe and I…” Sombra let her head fall against the barrier. “If we were loyal, it wouldn’t have bothered us to bring you back. If we’d helped you get out in the first place, then it became punishment for defying him. See? Win-win for him, lose-lose for us.” She grieved. “I’m sorry, calaca. I’m so sorry.”

Amélie inhaled with agonising effort on the floor. “Where’s Lena?” she whispered.

“One thing at a time, chica, I haven’t got long before they put on your dampers again-”

Widowmaker bashed her fist against the barrier, demanding Sombra’s attention. Her body shook. “Then listen to me now and listen to me _well,”_ she hissed. “Lena _protected_ us. She treated me like a human being. She talked with me, and looked after me, and made sure Overwatch weren’t _using_ me.”

“Do you really believe her?” Sombra asked.

“She fought tooth and nail to protect me from Blackrook, Sombra,” Widowmaker said. “After taking the heat from her allies for weeks. _I believe her._ She could have killed me countless times in the field, she is not an idiot. She could have betrayed me so many times when I was defenceless. I. Believe. Her.”

Sombra was shocked. “I didn’t know speedy had it in her.”

“Then you had better start believing, because if we do not protect her, Talon _will_ find a way to make that loyalty theirs. Rook said that she would be useful to us. There is no doubt in my mind that they would use her.”

Sombra pressed up close in the connection. “I… I have bad news. They, um. They wanna do that.”

The sniper’s form became more unstable. “What?”

“Breathe, calaca, I can’t have this connection dying on us. Breathe. I’m here, right?”

Widowmaker inhaled, and growled out her frustration. Toxic vapor filtered out between her teeth. The connection stabilised.

“There you are. Look.” Sombra adjusted herself. “You… what. What do you want?”

“Protect her.”

Sombra blinked. “What? No! I’m not gonna-”

Widowmaker’s rage began to dominate the connection, replacing all other information with an impenetrable wall of thought.

“Whoa, whoa, no, OK…” Sombra inhaled deeply to avoid getting swamped. “I get it. I'm sorry. If you want me to do that, I will. What then?”

“Interfere with Moira as much as possible. Don’t let Lena become another victim of Talon. We _can’t_ let it happen.”

Sombra scratched the back of her head. “You two _and_ her?”

“You owe me for Volskaya,” Widowmaker warned.

“I do,” Sombra agreed. “I owe you a big one.”

“I haven’t needed it yet. But please.” Widowmaker rested a hand on the barrier. “Do this for me. You don’t have to like her. But do it for me. For _us._ _Please.”_

“I can’t argue with that,” Sombra admitted. She pressed a hand to the barrier, and spoke to both the sniper and the dancer. “I’ll look out for her. Okay? I haven’t spent five years in this shithole to let someone else get the same deal you have. But. And this is a big but. Akande’s getting suspicious. I can’t be overt the way I’ve been before. I’m gonna have to find another way about it.”

“I don’t care,” Widowmaker said. _“Don’t_ let it happen.”

“I won’t let it. Not for you.”

The sniper nodded. “Thank you.”

“It’s starting,” Amélie murmured, shivering on the floor.

Sombra retreated slightly, just slightly, as Widowmaker fled to her other half, sinking into Amélie like a living shield to protect against the brunt of Talon’s reconditioning process. Amélie, little more than a catatonic ghost, spent most of her existence hidden from Talon’s evil, blissfully ignorant to the murderous acts of her protector.

To Sombra, the flow of information became tinted with blue and shifted in a horrible way as electromagnetic interference kicked in around the sniper’s brain. “Should I go…?” she asked.

“Stay this time,” Widowmaker said, whole again, shaky and, though she never seemed to be, afraid. “Please. I don’t want to be alone.”

“Alright,” Sombra said. She steadied her hands on the physical console and kept firm against the rushing river of information, steadfast for her only friend, as her mind began to change.

 

Thirty minutes later, Sombra disconnected from the reconditioning unit. As she backed out of the dizzying sensory input and returned to reality, Moira appeared on her right.

“You’ve been connected for a while,” Moira observed as she walked by, penning notes on a clipboard. “You may want a tissue.”

Sombra touched her cheek. She’d been crying. She wiped the tears away on the back of her arm. “Haha. What's this wet stuff?”

“Tears,” Moira said without humour. She placed the clipboard on a table. “It's not too strenuous for you, is it?”

“You do know I'm basically diving _into_ someone's mind, right?” Sombra lied. “She was losing it ‘cause she hadn't been stabilised for so long. It brushed off on me.”

Moira made a displeased noise. “She was already approaching a scheduled session before she was so rudely stolen.” Moira brushed a stray hair out of Widowmaker’s face. “I'm glad she's back safely, now. We can look after her properly.”

“Oh yeah?” Sombra said, leaning on Moira’s desk.

Moira hummed in agreement. “It's for her own good. She wouldn't survive in the outside world, not after we’ve done so much to her. In a way… this is a form of mercy. A lesser of two evils.”

Sombra bit her tongue against a wave of revulsion, and eyed the unconscious Widowmaker. _Yeah, right. Keep believing what you tell yourself. We’ll get her out again. Someday._

Moira gathered herself, spine ramrod straight, ready for business. “Well. We don't have all day. I don't want to work with you any more than is absolutely necessary, so stay on task.”

“Oh, finally, a little honesty!” Sombra said. “It felt like it was gonna be _forever_ before someone admitted they hated me.”

“I don't hate you, that would be a grave exaggeration,” Moira corrected her, brows drawn in irritation. She didn’t _hate_ Sombra, hate was a strong word, but if working with her was going to be like this, she hoped it would be over soon.

Sombra crossed her arms and smirked. She hated Moira from her stupid hair to her pointy shoes, and if working with the geneticist was gonna go this way, she was looking forward to a little torture. “Let’s hope it stays that way.”


	9. Dissonance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Overwatch discusses what little they know about Blackrook and Viper, Lena’s friends are intent on searching for her. However, not all the inhabitants of Gibraltar are in agreement - and Fareeha discovers that the old guard are hiding something important from her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
>   
> 

_Lyra.”_

_“Lyra!” Lena remembered, very suddenly. “Lyra Silvertongue! And you’re dreaming!”_

_Lyra shook her head. “No! That isn’t me any more. I haven’t felt like that in a long time. This en’t my world, but it’s all I’ve got for home now. I don’t know where Pan is, either. Feels like he got torn away, but I can’t remember how…”_

_“I'm so sorry,” Lena said. “I saw tons of different versions of me in the slipstream. It makes sense to me if you’re Lyra from a different Oxford, and your dæmon…” she shivered. “Gosh, I hope we’re not in the world of the dead. I hope you can still find a way home. I’m sorry you’re stuck here.”_

_“This en’t the world of the dead. I just told you,” Lyra said crossly. She looked around the shadowy void. “I don’t think it’s the slipstream, even. This is a pocket of your world. You’re s’pposed to be here. I’m not, but I don’t know how to leave. The others don’t know how, either.”_

_“Feels like the slipstream,” Lena said dubiously. “What d’you mean, others? Do you mean the other ghosts?”_

_“Yeah. But they don’t act like ghosts,” Lyra said. She watched the wisps, half covered by shadow. “I think they’re_

* * *

 

The second she was free from Sombra’s deadlock, Athena’s red alert had awoken the base like a thunderclap.

Crammed under the launchpad of Watchpoint: Gibraltar, everyone was tense and silent as Athena looped a very short clip of security footage on the room’s large screen. In the clip, Blackrook had caught Lena around the waist, and both were on the floor. Lena wrestled her way free and blinked out, but Rook lunged, caught Lena again, and threw her like a sack of flour. She could be seen charging towards Lena, arms straight and swords out, and then the clip ended.

“This is the only surviving clip from the assault on my systems,” Athena explained. “I could barely hold them at bay.”

“I can’t believe it,” Winston said in a low voice. “I don’t want to believe it.”

Genji gripped the edge of the table. “She is a Talon Assassin,” he said gravely. “Or she used to be one. She attacks the same way.”

“You said Viper moved like Talon paramilitary?” Reinhardt asked.

Genji nodded. “He may have been a Trooper at one point. I would not be surprised if they have repurposed certain individuals.”

“The ways Null Sector moved in battle have been burned into my memory. I am not surprised you remember this so well,” Reinhardt admitted.

“It _is_ hard to forget certain things.”

“Wait,” Angela interrupted, setting the cold coffee she’d been sipping on the table. She rubbed her tired eyes with her lab coat sleeve. “Athena, pause the video. Go back a few frames.”

Athena complied, pausing after Lena had been thrown, where the hard-shelled unit on Blackrook’s back was clear in frame.

Angela’s face twisted, and when she spoke, her voice had venom. “That’s Moira’s work.”

“You’re right,” Genji realised, and pointed at the visible purple elements on Blackrook’s upper arms and thighs. “The housing is smaller than Moira’s, but the rest appears to be integrated into the suit.”

Angela’s overworked brain took a second to catch up with Genji's words. “You _did_ work with her that night in Venice,” she muttered, and knocked back the last of her coffee as if it were something stronger.

Genji settled into his chair. “I wish I hadn’t.”

Winston spoke up. “We have to get Lena as soon as possible. If her accelerator was damaged in the fight she could be in grave danger.”

“On top of being at Talon…” Brigitte said to herself. She was jiggling her knee the same way Lena did.

“I have an associate who might be able to help,” Jack offered. “It might take a couple of days for me to get in contact, but they’re good.”

Torbjörn, like most of them, was still wearing his pyjamas. He put a hand on Brigitte’s shoulder to help calm her anxious tic. “Is that who I think you’re referring to?”

“It might be,” Jack said vaguely.

“We can move before that,” Fareeha said. The man was full of secrets and impossible to pry open, unless you wanted to be stonewalled til you gave up. “We have to rescue Lena and Widowmaker before Talon does anything more to either of them.”

“I agree!” Brigitte blurted. “I mean - we shouldn’t rush in. That’s not sensible.” She shared a quick look with Reinhardt - she was usually telling _him_ to stop and wait, but she was starting to understand why he _did._ “I just can’t bear thinking about what might happen to Lena!”

“No. We wait til I contact my associate,” Jack repeated. “They can back us up.”

“Who _is_ this associate of yours?” Winston asked.

“Someone I’ve known a long time.”

Fareeha shot him a look. “If you insist,” she said, humourless and impatient. “I’ll get back to Helix Security and tell my superior officer I’ve encountered complications. We’re lucky she was sympathetic to Overwatch back in the day.”

On the side, Reinhardt leaned down to Brigitte as the others kept pushing their points. “You’ve never had a crisis like this before, have you, child?” he muttered.

Brigitte shook her head. “No. I’m so scared, Reinhardt. I don’t know what to do.”

“It is always hard when trouble catches up to a loved one.” He squeezed her shoulder. “Have courage, Brigitte. We are stronger together.”

Brigitte nodded and rested her head on his upper arm.

“The faster we get Lacroix back the sooner we’ll know our research is accurate,” Mei had explained while the knights talked. “There's no guarantee Talon won't change up their methods. Or what might happen to Lena…”

“Even hypothetically,” Angela said, backing up her associate, “We need to be prepared for the possibility of Lena… experiencing something Amélie did.” She fought down tears. This was not the time to let her emotions run rampant. “Besides, Winston is the only person familiar enough with the accelerator to make repairs.”

“Thank you, Angela,” Winston said warmly. “But she's right. We have been inactive for too long, and now we are facing the consequences. Talon could lay waste to us whenever they felt like. Now they have _two_ of our own.” He leaned forwards. “We are in _no_ position to split hairs.”

“Every day we spend stalling is another day that Lena could be in terrible danger,” Brigitte begged. “Please, Jack.”

“We are _not_ rushing in and that is final,” Jack insisted. “I don't want anyone else to suffer or even die at the hands of people who _used_ to be our own, who were turned against us.”

“You are being unreasonable,” Fareeha countered. She left no room for argument. “Lena always believed in what Overwatch stood for. She is the one who encouraged me to join, even though Overwatch failed to protect her after her accident. It was Winston’s work _against direct orders,”_ she stressed, glaring, “that she was brought back from existing outside spacetime. History will repeat itself, or _worse,_ if we don't rescue both of them.” Fareeha said. “That is why we have to hunt Talon down _now.”_

Jack shook his head. “Your mother wouldn't want this.”

Fareeha’s heart stopped. The room held its breath. All eyes zeroed in on the two of them.

“How could you possibly know what my mother would want!” Fareeha Amari shouted, and the room exploded.

“Jack Morrison how _dare_ you say- _”_

“We owe it to Lacroix to save her from Talon!”

“If Lena ends up like her we may have _both of them_ used against us!”

“After all these years-”

“They are our _family!”_

“Guys, please stop fighting-”

“Lena was right!”

“Lena was RIGHT!”

“ENOUGH!” Reinhardt bellowed, stunning them silent. He rose to his feet and towered over them like a mountain. “You are arguing among yourselves like children! And you! Jack!” he condemned, pointing a finger at the ex-Commander. “How _dare_ you bring up old wounds when there is such a serious matter at hand!”

Genji, exhausted of Overwatch, tired of its failings, already intent on jumping ship, stood up, back rigid, and left.

Fareeha watched him leave. She inhaled deeply to settle her turbulent emotions. “I will _not_ make the same mistakes as my mother,” she hissed, and she strode out.

Angela rose from her chair. “Winston was correct,” she said coldly. “This is _our_ fault. _We_ have to right these wrongs.” She plucked her coffee mug off the table and followed her wife out of the room.

Brigitte, not trusting herself to speak, fled without a word.

“Brigitte! Do not do anything rash!” Reinhardt called, and swiftly chased after his godchild.

“...I’m going to help Angela,” Mei excused herself, and scampered. Winston, face scrunched with silent grief, lumbered away with her.

And then, only Jack and Torbjörn were left. They sat in oppressive silence. The empty room seemed much more intimidating with its members gone.

“Athena,” Torbjörn said solemnly. “Please halt monitoring protocols.”

“As you wish,” the AI said, with a hint of disappointment in her artificial voice. A soft chime indicated her leaving.

It was a long minute before Torbjörn faced his ex-Captain. “You have done a lot of stupid things,” he said slowly, “But that was possibly the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.”

Jack’s brows were drawn close. “I know.”

“You should really tell Fareeha, you know. What if someone knew Gabriel Reyes was alive somewhere, and refused to tell us? Imagine how angry we’d be.”

“It's been so long now,” Jack said, finally seeing the walls of the hole he’d dug himself, and the shovel he was clinging to. “She's happier not knowing.”

“Every day you put it off is another day she could be working through those feelings,” Torbjörn said. “If you don't tell her, I might just do it myself. But I _really_ don't want to be the one giving her the news.”

“No,” Jack said, hauling up another clump of soil.

“You would even keep it from her after _that?”_ Torbjörn said.

“Yes,” Jack said, unable to comprehend otherwise, digging deeper still.

Torbjörn turned in his chair. He stood up, and made his way to the exit, where he paused. “I have kept your secrets for too long. I'm not _lying_ to them for your sake. If this thin, _veneer_ of normalcy will be broken by the truth… I’m starting to think maybe it needs to be broken.” He hesitated for a moment. “Jack… You’d best be preparing yourself for the fallout. I’m not going to be protecting you from it this time.”

He closed the door behind him.

Jack Morrison was alone.

 

Torbjörn found Fareeha and Angela in their quarters. He could hear Angela crying through the door, which was half open. Fareeha’s soft and reassuring voice filtered out. He knocked on the doorframe, and stuck his head around the corner. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said gently, “May I come in?”

“Come in,” Fareeha said. She was holding her wife as they sat on the edge of the bed. Angela was pulling tissues from a box, and had the wastepaper bin at her feet. “We just needed a moment.”

“Of course,” Torbjörn said. He sat on Angela’s swivel chair. “I'm sorry about the argument.”

Fareeha waved him off. “I'm going back to Helix to see what they can do. They’ll have more options.”

Torbjörn nodded. It was a good course of action. “Fareeha, Angela,” he started. “I am sorry to tell you this way, and at this time, but I must admit something to you. It is a secret of Jack’s I have kept for far too long. I thought helping him would be for the best, but, it appears he is just as stupid when it comes to a crisis as he always has been, and this is not something I will keep from you any longer.”

“What is it?” Fareeha said in a low voice, suddenly dreading the answer.

“I hope you can forgive me,” Torbjörn said. “Your mother, Ana… is still alive.”

 

Elsewhere, far enough that Reinhardt could not catch up, Brigitte was frantically typing to Lúcio Correia dos Santos and Hana Song.

 **pyroarious:** Are you there? Please please pick hp  
**pyroarious:** Pleasw pick up I need to talk to both of you right now something terrible happened

Hana, reliable at any hour, immediately started a group call. Lúcio, who had crashed in a hotel for the night as his tour drew to a close, picked up in seconds.

“I was nearly asleep,” Lúcio mumbled. There was rustling as he sat up, and rubbed his eyes. “What's wrong, Bri?”

“Yeah, what's up baby?” Hana said, already worried.

“Lena’s been kidnapped by Talon,” Brigitte cried, and the two friends were awake in a flash. “They took Widowmaker too, and everyone’s fighting, _please,_ we need you here as fast as you can!”

 

When Fareeha rapped her knuckles on the door of Jack’s office, Athena’s telltale voice went silent on the other side.

The door slid open. Jack was sitting at his desk. “Come in,” he offered.

“You knew,” Fareeha said, stalking forwards. Her words dripped acid.

“I know a lot of things, Fareeha,” Jack said quietly.

Fareeha leaned over him. “You knew my mother is alive!”

“Yes.”

 _“Where is she?"_ Fareeha exclaimed, voice breaking.

Unable to hide the truth any longer, Jack spoke. “She's in Cairo,” he admitted. “She’s been doing espionage work where she can, and we’ve been coordinating long distance. I’m… starting to wonder if it was the right choice.”

Fareeha shook in frustration. “Somewhere along the line she stopped keeping you in line and started using you as a mouthpiece?!”

“Yes,” Jack said, trying to drop the shovel. “It’s what she wanted.”

“What happened to the heroes of my youth?” Fareeha asked. “Were you _ever_ actually as good as you seemed?”

 _Gabriel was,_ Jack thought.

Fareeha saw his mood drop, and wasn’t letting him get out of this that easily. Maybe it was petty, but she was _beyond_ caring about the rules of etiquette. “What would _Vincent_ say if he knew you did this?” she asked.

Jack flinched, but had the good grace to say nothing. His ex-fiancée had been driven away by his single minded drive to keep Overwatch alive after Winston's recall, in spite of the Petras Act, and fight a war against Talon that wasn't even guaranteed to happen.

Fareeha narrowed her eyes. It seemed she _had_ struck the proper nerve to get his attention. “I always dreamed of being a part of what my mother did, but I don’t think I could see it clearly in my youth.” She took the metal Overwatch pin off her jacket and slapped it on the table. “I don’t want to be a part of _this_ any more. I’m going to Helix Security. I’m going to find Lena Oxton _my_ way, and I’m taking everyone I can with me.”

 

* * *

 

Not long later, two messages passed through Athena’s processors, travelling thousands of kilometres through a channel of maximum encryption - one from Gibraltar, and its reply from Cairo.

 **_034B_0FE34D8AB9:_ ** _I’m sorry. The falcon found out. I couldn’t stall for long enough to get you on the line. She’s coming to you now._

 **_94C4_728DB386EA:_ ** _Then let her come. It’s about time we got this over with._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to all y’all lucio and hana fans thank u so much for your patience… your time is almost at hand.
> 
> for anyone confused: lyra silvertongue and related details are from the _his dark materials_ trilogy. it's essentially flavour text.
> 
> it's officially been a year since my first evidence of plotting this story! *jazz hands* let's celebrate with a new blurb that _finally_ shows the plot now that it's not spoilers!!! :D :D :D


	10. Source Code

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sombra must compromise her promise to Widow and keep a firm lid on her hatred of Moira to contact Lena in the one place they can’t be discovered: during reconditioning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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* * *

 

_alive.”_

_“How can they be alive if they look like ghosts?”_

_“Because I’m alive,” Lyra said. “Your Amélie’s alive, isn’t she?”_

_Lena took a moment to think, and she knew that Lyra was right. With that, the not-ghosts crept closer, as if sensing her realisation. Up close they appeared to have sheens of colour, but they still flickered, and their faces were indiscernible._

_“Don’t be afraid,” Lyra said, sensing Lena’s fear. “They’re just like us.”_

_“Am I like you?” Lena asked. She clenched her fists. Her hands felt solid._

_“You are!” Lyra said. “If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be here.”_

_Lena thought about that. “Sometimes I_

 

* * *

 

In the office space connected to Moira’s lab, Moira and Sombra had met to discuss how they were going to proceed. Speed was of the essence, and Talon needed their skills, but neither woman really wanted to be there.

“So,” Moira said, drawing out the word, as she circled her desk like a leopard on the prowl. “Before we begin, I wanted to go over the information I gave you yesterday.”

Sombra was sitting in the guest chair, leaning back, with her feet kicked up on the edge of Moira’s desk. She pushed a thick stack of paper towards Moira using her finger. “I skimmed it all. You bastards won't give me digital files, it limits how much I can take in.”

Moira rifled through the paper with one hand. “They think you'll go looking where you're not wanted. I'm inclined to sympathise,” she said nonchalantly, eyeing a particularly interesting bit about nerve conductivity.

 _Ugh._ Sombra already wanted to tear her hair out. “So… you’re gonna be doing the same thing as with Widow, right?” She leaned forwards and wiggled a finger at the nape of her neck. “With the brain stem tracker?”

“Yes. That’s the one thing that will _have_ to stay the same in my methods,” Moira sighed. “I’ll need a day to install the chip. We gleaned valuable knowledge from our progress on Lacroix and the Sansoni twins, and yet the Council tells me further experimentation is unnecessary.”

Sombra didn’t want to imagine what Moira would be capable of without checks and balances. “You can't always get what you want, doc.”

A scoff. “Neither can you. I gave you almost everything you should need to know for the task, the board wouldn’t let me share more,” Moira complained, letting the stack settle and placing her hand on top.

Sombra scowled. “Then give me _everything_ I need to know. How am I supposed to learn so much information on paper overnight? Do you want me to be an effective _lab partner_ or are they afraid of me getting my grubby hands all in your new project?” the hacker snapped. She knew Moira was on the board. It _could_ be a cover for her own selfishness. “Don't you get mad if I'm behind on anything.”

 _“You’re not doing the surgery,”_ Moira hissed. She cast a shadow as she loomed over Sombra. “I want you handy in case there’s problems with the _accelerator.”_ But it was with great frustration she conceded Sombra had a point, and she smoothed herself into a standing position. “We’re both working with limited resources, but I’ll tell Akande you need digital files for the task we are to undertake. We can’t risk something going astray. I want our work to go as smoothly as possible.”

Sombra fidgeted her left hand under the desk, running her thumb over her nails and her fingers over her thumbnail in a repetitive motion to keep herself from snapping. She'd just come _so_ close to exploding at the parasite, but she had to keep her cool. Maybe Moira actually did want to cooperate for once in her worthless life. Sombra could get revenge later - she was doing this for _Widow._ “Right. Fine. Why not fix the accelerator too?”

Moira scoffed. “If it’s not broken, why change it?”

Sombra actually snorted. “Tell me I’m not dreaming. You think something _doesn’t_ need improving?”

“You’re not dreaming. I want her body to adjust to conditioning before we use your help to upgrade the accelerator,” Moira explained. “It would be… very disappointing, if we had the same number of hiccups as we did on Lacroix. I’m not enthused by the idea of damaging this new asset over an unknown variable.”

Sombra stopped picking at her nails. “I thought Widow only had problems with the implant?”

Moira considered her words as she lowered herself into her desk chair. “Unfortunately, yes. Her body rejected it twice. But it wasn't _only_ the implant that needed adjusting in our methods. We had to get careful... and creative.”

Despite herself, Sombra asked. “What’d they... do?”

“In order to make our conditioning stick, it had to be repeated every four days for about four weeks. She was very resilient. Eventually, her strong will became a valuable asset to Talon, but we were forced to restrain her and induce a near permanent trance state so--”

Sombra swore loudly in Spanish. “I don’t need to hear all the details!” she exclaimed, waving the doctor’s words out of the air.

“...So any headway could be made at all,” Moira finished in a clipped tone. She leaned forwards with a somber expression. “It’s what _needed to be done_ to further Talon’s goals. I was called upon to further the cause of science and humanity. Of _course_ I would offer my expertise.” She paused to think. “Though I needn’t explain too much what happened to Lacroix; you _have_ observed the process firsthand. And given me some valuable notes for it, I must admit. Now, they want _your_ help. You’ve proven yourself trustworthy in this, at least.”

 _Fuck._ Moira was talking about the ongoing destruction of Sombra’s closest friend as easily as if she was describing how to bake a cake. For the umpteenth time in five long years, Sombra wondered why she’d chosen to infiltrate the seventh circle of hell.

Thankfully, Moira didn’t seem to notice Sombra’s emotions. “Are you ready? We can’t afford to waste time. I need to get to work.”

Wordlessly, Sombra swung her feet off the desk. Moira could permanently impair if not kill her with little effort, but if Talon lost another high level member now, retribution would be swift and unforgiving. Sombra was protected from Moira just enough that she could poke the beast with a fluoro purple nail, but it wasn’t enough.

Deep down, she _yearned_ for the day she’d be able to rip this devil apart.

 

Sombra connected to Widowmaker’s station in Reconditioning Suite 2 with little effort. It had only been a day since she was retrieved, and Talon was keeping her body connected to so many drips and machines it made Sombra’s head spin. Once again, she would be needed to take notes on the sniper’s condition.

Which, of course, meant more communication time for the two insurgents.

As Sombra touched down in her little pocket adjacent to the sniper’s headspace, she took a moment to look around. Where there had been hints of round-oak-brown-curly abstract thought when Widow was fresh back on base, there was now only bright BSOD blue and violet with a hint of up-and-down vertical patterns that threatened to give Sombra a headache when she concentrated on it. The now-cramped space was _cold,_ as far as a mind could convey coldness without feeling it. The walls beaded with liquid. The ceiling was the same as the one in which her physical body was imprisoned, except the fluorescent lights were black lights instead of white.

Widowmaker herself was somewhere in the middle of the room. Every time Sombra tried to focus on the woman on her knees, her gaze seemed to slip away. It was difficult to keep an eye on her, but there wasn’t much else to look at. She could only guess where, and how, Amélie was hiding. She was in a hibernation that swallowed her whole.

Not for the first time, Sombra wondered how Widowmaker saw the inside of her own mind. She hoped it would be similar. That would be kind of cool. But she hoped Widow’s own perception was different, because this would be a terribly sad place to live out your days.

Widowmaker herself, cold and still, stared at Sombra. Her empty, unblinking eyes glared artificially yellow under the black light, even brighter than those of her physical body. They were the only part of her that appeared stable. She did not move. She was waiting for a signal.

“Hey calaca,” Sombra greeted her, resting her imaginary head on the barrier only she could see. “How are you holding up?” she asked, careful to avoid asking how she _felt._

“I am managing,” Widowmaker murmured, though it sounded like she wasn’t quite aware of what she was saying.

Sombra was reassured, but only a little. “I needed to come talk to you. This is gonna be the last time I can talk to you before Moira starts working on Oxton.”

Widowmaker’s voice became icily monotone, and her focus seemed to sharpen. “What.”

“They gave me files - on fucking paper, but still files - and they’re going to do the brain thing like you’ve got.” Sombra wiggled a finger at the nape of her neck.

“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?” Widowmaker asked. Her question had a warm cadence to it that not even conditioning could crush. Sombra was endeared by the lilting tone, but she couldn’t get distracted now. She crossed her arms.

“Of course not. I don’t lie to you. There’s nothing I stand to gain from it, and you’ve been through enough.”

Widowmaker resigned herself to apathy. There was no point wasting energy being sad about things she couldn’t prevent. She looked at her knees as she processed the information. “So... what now.”

“I’ll have to go very soon but I need to convince Oxton she can trust me. Remember how you acted when I found out I could do this?”

Widowmaker all but hissed. “I thought it was another aspect of reconditioning I was supposed to succumb to.”

“And it’s not.”

“God, no.”

“You got any plans?” Sombra asked. “‘Cause I don’t know her the way you do. On top of _this,_ I stole her pal’s teleportation technology. She won’t trust me.”

Widowmaker wracked her brain for anything that could help. Her eyebrows twitched lower. She glanced down, to the side, thinking. Then - an idea. Looking up at Sombra, she said, with determination, “Ultra Chess.”

Sombra was perplexed. “I’m sorry, _what?”_

“Tell her that life has just become Chess 2. It is now Ultra Chess. She’ll know what I mean, and she’ll know it’s from _me.”_

“...Is this an in-joke you two had?”

Widowmaker’s lips twitched. “I suppose you could call it that.”

Sombra was hesitant, but knew it was her best shot. “I’ll do it, but just so you know, you sound like an idiot.”

“Lena was the one who thought up the phrase, when we were alone. There’s no way she could misunderstand it.”

 _“Hah,_ she’s the idiot. Good.” Sombra made a motion of dusting off her hands. “Consider it done, calaca.”

“...Thank you,” Widowmaker said. “Thank you for, this. For her. Despite the circumstances.”

Sombra chuckled and tried to look aloof. “I’m your friend,” she said as she began to disconnect. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

“Good luck,” the sniper whispered, pleading with her cold, yellow eyes, before the connection dissipated.

 

One day had passed since Sombra spoke to Widowmaker. In Reconditioning Suite 1, which had been outfitted with new technologies to fit Moira’s needs, Sombra stood next to Lena’s unconscious body, prone on an examination table identical to Widow’s. Talon worked fast. She knew what to expect. She shivered anyway.

Lena was in a medical gown, and a patch of hair as big as the palm of her hand had been shaved away from the base of her skull. There was a thin line of stitches along the back of Lena’s neck. Thanks to a steady IV drip of Moira’s cell-repairing nanobiotic slurry, the surgery site had healed almost completely.

Sombra remembered being sprayed with the crap in the field. It worked altogether too effectively, and it made her skin sticky.

There were enough electrodes on Lena’s body that Sombra’s attempts to connect should be viable, even so early after the procedure. Either way, this was her only chance to try before Talon got into the meat of their _process._ There wasn’t time to second guess. She brushed her nails along Lena’s scalp to get a feel for the currents there, and rested her hands on the console, same as she always did.

Now came the difficult part.

Sombra closed her eyes and tried to _speak_ with the unfamiliar console, probing and plucking at the currents in its processors. She reached down and in and around, adapting herself and adjusting her attack until she was in the machine and the machine was an extension of her, like dizzying vertigo, as she almost but not quite lost the sense of being human, but she could still manipulate, she could move _in_ the machine, like solving a puzzle, putting herself (her tech) and her mind (her processors) in the places they needed to be put, like picking a lock but much more fun and interactive, push and pull and flow and snap and then - she - was - _in!_

“Gotcha,” Sombra murmured, a neat four seconds after she’d started the hack, deep in a river of abstract thought that no other person could understand, and she bridged the proxy to Lena’s brain.

Despite knowing it was going to be different than Widowmaker, Lena’s brain felt _wrong._ Sombra was thrown _hard_ off her game. She gasped, physically, as she struggled to make sense of the, the, the _everything,_ an overwhelming flood of information that felt orange and blue and red and yellow and cyan and black and white and pink and back and forth and back and forth and back and forth and back and forth and

 _The accelerator,_ Sombra thought, suddenly, violently, desperately, and slapped her right hand on the device charging next to Lena.

The flow of information cleared instantly, and Sombra almost collapsed with relief. She leaned on the console, panting as she calmed down. She was _already_ exhausted. But she was in. For _real._

And all she saw was white.

“Are you there?” she called in her imagination, into the silent space. It felt like being in a cloud. Just a little disconcerting.

“What,” came the distant idea of a response, different, weirdly different, but not in a bad way. Just _different._ It didn’t seem to come from anywhere in the whitish space, and it was slightly muffled. “What’s going on?”

Sombra “followed” the voice to its source. The idea of a figure became visible. Their true form was impossible to pin down, same as when she’d had trouble with Widow the day prior; but worse, because she wasn’t familiar with _this_ connection yet. _Fuck, I’m gonna need a drink or three after this,_ she thought. _This is a nightmare. I shouldn’t be looking into other peoples’ brains like this._

“How are you,” Lena asked, half asleep and half awake, _“here?”_

Sombra felt sick, but she kept the connection. “I’m not actually here, you’ve got a chip in your-”

“What’s going on?” Lena interrupted. “Am I dreaming? What’s going on?”

“You’re not dreaming,” Sombra shushed her. “Listen to me. I’m connected to your brain by the proxy of technology. It’s temporary, and I need to explain some things to you…”

Lena saw a purple static nightmare, far away and scrambled, and a thin fog obscured it from sight. There were too many details to describe, each fleeing when she tried to pin them in place. She found it difficult to focus on what Sombra was saying. The words felt like ideas filtering pleasantly into her mind.

Which made her sharp, and vigilant, and violent.

“Get out of my head,” Lena growled.

 _Oh, no._ “I’m not in your head,” Sombra started. “It’s technology-”

“Get out of my head, get out of my head,” Lena chanted, pressing her hands to her skull.

 _No, no, ohhh no._ Sombra was being overwhelmed by the wall of thought and blinding fog. “I’m not in your head, speedy! I’m here cause Widow wants me to-”

“GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT--”

 _Too much, too much,_ “Lena-”

**GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT**

“WOULD YOU PLEASE LISTEN,” Sombra shouted, “ULTRA CHESS, CHESS 2 ULTRA CHESS, THIS IS HOW I TALK TO WIDOW, JUST LISTEN TO ME, _PLEASE!”_

Lena was shocked into silence. The whirlwind around them came to an abrupt halt. The hovering fog remained hostile. “U-Ultra chess?” Lena said weakly. “How - how on _earth_ do you know about that?”

“It’s,” Sombra heaved, almost bowled off her feet from the sheer power of Lena’s will. “Apparently, it’s, something between you and Widowmaker, but I wouldn’t know. I’m just... the messenger.”

Lena looked around. “Y’sure I’m not... dreaming?” she asked.

Sombra shook her head. “Nope. Dunno what you’re seeing, but you’re not dreaming. Above anything else, ‘cause I don’t know what you’re seeing, I’m _not in your head._ People can’t _get_ into other peoples’ brains. If I look like I am… it’s your brain trying to make sense of technology being weird.” Lena wasn’t reacting violently, so she continued, softer. “Widowmaker told me to look after you, because you protected her at Gibraltar over the last couple of weeks. I’ve been talking to her like this for years, through the tracker Talon put in her head. I owe her a huge favour, and she wants me to protect you. So would you please just _listen_ to me?”

Lena’s shoulders dropped. “I… How do I know… you’re not lying?”

“She told me the best thing I could do to tell you was some little meme you two had going on. Whatever Chess 2 was.”

“We… I played board games with her,” Lena said quietly. “When she was in her cell. I made jokes, a lot, so she’d feel safer.”

 _Ahhh,_ Sombra thought. That made sense. She appreciated that Lena cared, though she didn’t dare say it.

More gears clicked in Lena’s head, and horror dawned on her. She touched the back of her neck. “Does that mean - do I have a -”

Sombra wanted to comfort her, but she couldn’t approach. It felt like she was repeating the same two steps over and over without getting closer. “I’m… sorry,” Sombra said. “This is the only way I could contact you before Talon started turning you into something of theirs. Now that I know this works, I’m going to to check in on you whenever I can.”

Lena started to cry, and Sombra could _feel_ her sorrow over the connection.

“I know, I understand,” Sombra shushed, so gently. “They’re trying something slightly different cause they don’t know how to deal with your accelerator. They aren’t gonna mess with you chemically. Not yet. I dunno if there _will_ be a yet. But you aren’t unprotected.”

“I’m not ready,” Lena cried, heart torn between accepting the help and fearing it was a ruse, even with the knowledge that Widow had done it before. “I want to be ready, I’m s’pposed to be ready for anything, but I’m just afraid, and tired, and angry, and I feel so _alone…”_

“I’ll be with you every step of the way, chica, I promise. I’m not gonna leave you alone. I -” Sombra hesitated, bit her lip, continued - “I promised Widow I’d protect you. I did. I’m not gonna let them hurt you as much as they want to.” She found herself yearning for something physical to press against, the way she could with Widowmaker, to show comfort. She _wished_ she could show comfort. “Can you be strong? Widow wouldn’t care about you as much as she does if you weren’t strong.”

“Yes,” Lena says. “I’m strong. I can be strong. I-I can hold on til you check in with me.” She sniffed, and rubbed her face with her arms. “How do I protect myself?”

“You gotta make a mental barrier,” Sombra explained. “You know how to beat a lie detector?”

“Yeah,” Lena said, slowly gaining resolve. “I know how to lie.”

“Good,” Sombra said. “You gotta take lying to the next level. You gotta believe you’re going with Talon from your scalp to your toes, even if you’re actually _not._ They can’t dig for what they can’t see. They’re gonna fuckin' try, and I’m sorry, I’m truly sorry, that I can’t stop them from doing everything. But I can help you with this.”

Lena looked a little wary.

“I’m not in your head, remember that,” Sombra reminded her. “Widow had trouble believing it the first few times I connected in. Apparently, it looked like I was _right next to_ her. But I’m not.”

“Yeah,” Lena said. “You look far away. Like you’re standin’ across a great big divide but I can hear you like you’re up close. If I imagine hard enough… I can convince myself you’re not here, I think. But y’threw me off.”

Sombra chuckled. _The answer to a question I never asked._ “Good. You’ll survive, then. If you can be strong, we can get through this together. I wish I could talk to you face to face. There’s so many better ways to organise. But I don’t have any other options, and I’m sorry. This is my last resort.”

“Tell her I’m sorry,” Lena blurted. “Tell her I’m sorry about Blackrook, I tried, I swear I tried everything to save her.”

Sombra hissed in pain. “Aye, I will. I know. I’ll tell her. I promise.”

“Thank you,” Lena sighed. She didn’t have the energy to be angry right now.

Distantly, in the physical world, Sombra heard voices approach.

“I have to go,” she told Lena. “I’m on your side. I’m gonna do everything I can to help. I promise. There are people here who can teach you how to fight back. But I’m gonna keep talking with you for now.”

“Okay,” Lena said, nodding. “Be safe. Please. Don’t get caught.”

“I won’t get caught,” Sombra promised, and she prepared to disconnect. “I never have.”


End file.
